Mad With Hunger
by Geeky-DMHG-Fan
Summary: My take on the story of Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta. Repost of old story, with a few changes.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing, least of all the creations of Suzanne Collins's magnificent imagination.

Contains mild spoilers for Catching Fire, though more will pop up as Annie and Finnick get older.

This story will be told both from Annie Cresta's and Finnick Odair's perspectives. And it's more like a bunch of one-shots connected together that take place at one year intervals. In this story, Finnick is two years older than Annie. A lot of things/people/names/whatever, I made up, but where Suzanne Collins gave information in the books, I use it.

**A/N (06.22.10)- This is a repost of a story I took down a while ago. There aren't many changes to the first chapter, but I'll be tweaking things in forthcoming chapters. **

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**Mad With Hunger**

**Chapter One:**

**Anna, Age 15, Finnick, Age 18

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**

I knew I should have pulled my hair back.

The manufactured breeze of the air conditioning unit keeps blowing it in my face, tickling me and making me want to scratch my skin. But I can't. I've been suspended on the bars for over a minute, and I need to stay up for another two.

There is a slight ache in both my arms and a tremor in my left. I shift more of my weight to the right side, and that seems to help. I know it's only a temporary fix.

I'd injured my arm. Or rather, someone injured it for me. I was sparring with another trainee, and rather than pull back as we are instructed, the guy actually cut me with his blade. It wasn't bone deep, but it required stitches, which are still in my skin. Ugly black reminders of my opponent's cruelty.

I suppose by now I should be used to it. I've been training here for five years, ever since I was eleven, and that's just how it is. We aren't supposed to inflict any real damage, but the trainers breed us to show no mercy. It makes sense. After all, there is no mercy in the arena. Only death, and if you're lucky, or more likely, skilled enough, victory.

Technically, we aren't supposed to train, but our Peacekeepers aren't all that strict. More victors from District Four mean more money for them. It's a sacrifice they're willing to make.

I should consider myself lucky. Not everyone gets selected to train. We've all been watched since we were small children; I was chosen based on my projected height and swimming ability. I've been able to stay because of my hard work and overall capability in all the training sections. There isn't really one area I shine in, and I like it that way. Everyone here is so competitive, to excel and be the best in any one disciple is the same as painting a big target on your back. I prefer to stay under the radar.

But what I'd really prefer is for the ground to swallow up the Capitol. I'd even settle for reaching my nineteenth birthday. Then I'd be able to sleep at night without the ever present fear that my name will be chosen at the Reaping. I only have three more years to go. Then I can leave all this training behind, and not worry about the Hunger Games ever again. Until I get married and have my own children.

I could refuse my training, but that would be ridiculous. If I actually did get chosen, this is exactly the kind of preparation I would need. So quitting isn't really an option.

Not everyone here is based on skill. The richer folks of District Four can pay to have their children join up, regardless of whether they can even lift a spear or shoot an arrow. Their fees, along with the odd donation from the District Four victors, are used to support the cost of having a training center. The instructors are adults, giving their free time. The victors visit as well, to offer training tips, share their own experiences, provide motivation, whatever. Some visit much more than others.

Even looking forward, intentionally trying to ignore the slowly gathering crowd, I can feel all their eyes on me, feel _his_ eyes in particular. Caspian Bligh's to be exact. Unlike the trainees, he has no reason to want me to fail. He just watches because he's a pervert.

I only need to hang on for eighteen more seconds.

…

Fifteen more seconds.

…

By now I'm gritting my teeth, ignoring the way the sweat is dripping into my eyes and burning them. My breathing sounds about as labored as a woman giving birth, and my right arm is shaking. I shift my weight back to the other side and without warning, my left arm buckles. I kick my legs, try to push myself back up into position.

I'm almost there, but I can't do it. My arms are too weak from my vacation from practice, so I let go. It's a ten foot drop to the ground, and I roll, blunting some of force from impact. It still hurts, and I lay on my back, staring up at the ceiling as I fight to catch my breath.

There was only six seconds left.

A face appears near mine. Blond hair, brown wide-set eyes, too thin of a nose, and multiple ear piercings which just accentuate how far his ears stick out from his head. I sit up quickly, not caring if my head hits his. It doesn't.

Caspian offers me a hand up, but I'd rather use my bad arm to push myself off the floor than accept his help, so that's what I do. Caspian won five years ago when he was eighteen. He's one of those victors who visits the center a lot. Too much, if you ask me.

If it were because he actually cared about our progress or our well-being, I would welcome his help. But he's here for the flesh. And even though he's rather plain looking, there is plenty to be had. Because he won the Games, he's rich, and the girls, trainees or not, throw themselves at him.

I don't know why the girls sleep with him. For one thing, he's twenty-four. That should be enough to keep them away. But maybe they like that he's older. Maybe they think he'll protect them. That he'll marry them and care for them. And I think he knows that. Like any good Hunger Games' victor, he exploits this weakness and uses it against them. Turns that innocent desire into something that shatters each and every one of their hearts, but only after he's taken what he wants from them. They think they can be the one that changes him, but they never are.

Hunger Games Rule Number One: Know thine enemy. He does. Why can't they?

I can hear some of my crowd laughing, even see some of them pointing. The trainers don't stop them. As they're always saying, we need to grow tough skins.

I prepare myself for the barrage of teasing and insults, but by some weird twist of fate, they all turn away and leave. Even Caspian Bligh. The only person who remains is my best friend, my only friend among the trainees, Coral Malley.

She looks like she doesn't want to be here with me, and the second she speaks I know why. "Finnick Odair just entered the complex."

I play stupid just to get a reaction. "Who?"

"Are you kidding me? You've never heard of Finnick Odair?"

Of course I've heard of him. It would be easier to find someone who _hasn't _heard of Finnick Odair. He was all everyone talked about in District Four—"One of the most beautiful boys you will ever see," they all said. And after he won the Hunger Games, he is all anyone in the whole of Panem ever talks about. And two years after his victory, talk still hasn't died down.

Quite frankly, I'm sick of hearing his name.

I have nothing against him. That would be foolish as I don't even really know him. Still, from what I see of him on television, I'm not sure I could like him. If he's anything like Caspian Bligh, he carries the taint of the Capitol. Probably worse, because ever since he's been of age, he visits the Capitol constantly. At least Caspian stays around to troll on naive girls in his own district.

I can see both of their heads bobbing above the crowd. They're taller than most everyone, but Finnick's copper hair stands out from the sea of brown and blond. I look away. There's really nothing to see. Just another Caspian, and I don't want to waste my time. I have homework to do.

I try to head toward the shower, but Coral's dragging me toward the sea of admirers. "Anna, I'm not letting you leave before you see him."

I pull my still aching arm from her grasp, rubbing it slightly, careful not to snag the stitches. "I've seen him plenty. I'd rather take a shower before everyone heads back there."

"But I want you to be there with me when I say hi."

I pat her on the head, perhaps a bit condescendingly, but I'm tired and cranky. "You have plenty of personal charm all on your own." Or at least physical charm. Everyone's agreed that Coral's the most beautiful girl in the Center. Her hair is black, tinted blue, with eyes as bright as the ocean. She doesn't need my help.

"But Anna-"

"Why is he even here?" I ask. "He's never come before."

"I don't know. Maybe he decided to take his mentor duties seriously. Who cares? He's here and he's hot, and I'm going to try to speak with him."

"Good luck with that, Coral. And don't forget to send me a wedding invitation." I turn and head straight to the showers.

"Anna! Anna Cresta, come back here." She yells so loudly, I turn to see if anyone's looking. She's caught someone's attention, and wouldn't you know, it's Finnick Odair's. I look down quickly, hoping that the faster this moment's over the sooner he'll forget he even saw me. Turning the corner, I disappear behind the bathroom door.

The hot water is wonderful, and I lean against the shower wall, letting it beat against my sore body. But I can't take too long. Three minutes is the most we get before it turns ice cold.

As the spray hits my neck, I try to let go of my anger and irritation.

Sometimes it's just so easy to get upset with Coral, with all of them really. To just roll my eyes at how idiotic all the girls are for throwing themselves at these people, but I shouldn't. Who's to say if Finnick Odair turned the charm on me, I wouldn't melt like everyone else? I know I would. But I also know I don't like pain, and I know that anyone who loves Finnick Odair is in for a world of hurt. There's a lot to be said for self-preservation. I'm sure it's even one of the Hunger Games Rules.

I like to think of myself as a realist. I've been told I'm good looking, and since I own a mirror, I can confirm it. Pretty on most days, and occasionally, when I'm all dressed up, I can look downright beautiful. But Finnick is on a whole other plane where mere mortals do not dwell. And I don't want to be a _mere_ anything, certainly not to the man I fall in love with. I see the way my dad looks at my mom. That's what I want for myself, and I doubt Finnick or any other victor has that to give.

I finish my shower with one second to spare, feeling a slight drop in temperature just as I turn the nozzle off. Wrapped in my towel, I sit in the front of the cloudy mirror and braid back my long brown hair, hoping that when it dries, there will be none of those annoying wisps that tickle my face. I can hear a few voices from the girl trainees. My solitude is coming to an end. Quickly slipping on my clothes, I grab my bag and pass them as they enter, ducking my head. And just so no one will see my face and stop me, I put on my old hat.

I'm about to leave the training complex, but I take one last look to see if Coral is on her way to becoming Mrs. Odair. I don't see either of the future couple, so I make my way to leave.

"Excuse me."

It's a male voice calling after me. One I've heard countless times before, but never in person. I pull the ratty cap off my head before I turn around. "Yes?"

He's holding out his hand, and I'm wondering why he wants my hat. It's old. Belonged to my dad before he got a new one. Then he says, "My name's Finnick. Perhaps you've heard of me?"

The question is too stupid to answer. But that doesn't stop me from almost telling him that, yes, I have heard of him. I shake his hand, trying not so smile at just how gorgeous he is. While I can't manage that, I do remind myself that when Finnick Odair leaves to go flirt with the Capitol women as he most certainly will, it would be nice to have my dignity still intact, so I pull myself together.

"My name's Anna Cresta."

"So I heard." Finnick raises one of his copper eyebrows, his full mouth quirking just before his tongue darts across his lower lip. "Though you look more like an Annie."

I don't care how beautiful he is, Odair doesn't get to call me Annie.

"Only my dad calls me that."

Just then Caspian comes up and slaps Finnick on the back. "So, Odair, here to check out the talent."

I feel my face heat up as Caspian looks me over, like I'm a piece of meat. I wish I hadn't taken off my hat, because now I have nothing to hide behind. He reaches for my braid and I try not to flinch as he runs it through his fingers. It's degrading and makes me feel about two inches tall, but what can I expect. The Capitol treats us as if our lives are worth less than anything you could buy in the butcher's shop. They don't even pay the parents when they take their children away to die for their entertainment. It had to eventually trickle down into the way the victors saw us, their own people.

But my parents had taught me better. I'm worth more than that. This knowledge keeps my chin lifted high.

"You could say that," Odair answers, and then he's looking me over too. And it doesn't matter that he is infinitely better looking than anyone I've ever seen in my life. When placed side by side with Caspian's attention, he makes me feel just as cheap. I don't want to be near either of them.

"Well, I'm sure you have plenty you want to catch up on, seeing as how the Reaping is coming up. I'll leave you to it." And before they can stop me or Caspian can pull on my braid, I turn on my heel and walk away. I know they're watching me as I go. Unnerving doesn't even begin to describe what I feel.

I'm about twenty feet outside when Odair catches up to me. I keep walking.

"I was hoping to go home with you," he says.

I laugh. And not because I actually think him funny or because I'm filled with joy. His audacity's unbelievable. Who says that to someone they haven't even exchanged ten sentences with? Then again, maybe that's what they do in the Capitol. I don't really know what happens there. Hopefully, I never will.

I stop and turn, punctuating every word with an anger that keeps swelling. "Look, I don't know what kind of girl you take me for, but I'm _not_ interested in that kind of thing."

Odair tilted his head to the side, sea green eyes twinkling. "I notice you didn't say you're not interested in me."

I try not to blush, but know I'm failing miserably. Really, what does it matter? I'm never going to see this guy again, so I might as well be honest. Perhaps I can find some way to show him that people deserve more than to be treated like his play things. "I realize you're an extremely attractive guy. The handsomest guy I've ever seen and will most likely ever see in my life." I pause. Let it sink in that I actually said that and he hasn't laughed in my face. So far, so good.

"Thank you," he says, and from the sound of his voice I can tell he finds me amusing.

I want to look away, but I force myself to continue. Taking a deep breath, I try to rationally explain why Finnick Odair will not be accompanying me home. "But you aren't really interested in me. You don't know me or anything about me. But _I _know me. And _I_ know that I could easily fall for you, and just as easily get my heart broken. And I don't want it to be broken. I want what my parents have, and there is no way I'm going to get that by sleeping with you. I see how you act in the Capitol, flirting with women almost three times your age. And they think you're in love with them until you leave them for someone else. I refuse to be one of those people. So please, leave me alone." By now I'm out of breath, and I feel like I'm just getting started, but really I have nothing left to say. I wonder if any of my ramblings even made sense.

Odair actually has the decency to look ashamed, and part of me is happy that maybe I got him to think, that maybe he'll be more careful with the way he treats those people.

He brings his hand up to his hair, scratching his scalp. "While all that's true, I just wanted to see your father. When I was little, I used to work on the same boat as him, and he was always kind to me. I thought it about time to repay the favor."

Now I just want to die, and it's in that moment, when I'm most humiliated, that I realize I've become one of those silly girls. Had I really thought I had changed him? I had poured out my heart to this stranger, shared my romantic ideals, scolded him for seducing and using vain and vapid women, and all he really wanted was to do something nice for my dad. I bury my face in my hand. "I'm so embarrassed."

"If it makes you feel better, that was a good answer."

I still can't look at him.

He keeps trying to be nice to me, which only makes me feel worse. "If I had to judge myself based on what I saw on television, I'd say you came to the right conclusion," he says.

I look at him in disbelief, my mouth surely hanging open. "And you're ok with that? Just going from girl to girl?"

His eyes spark, and for a second I think he's angry, but he just blinds me with the brilliant white of his teeth. "You act as if they have hearts to break. Besides, I make them no promises, and I don't even do half of what you think I do." Finnick laughs, and I'm reminded then of a very key piece of information. This boy, this man really, has killed people in cold blood. "Seriously, Annie, do you really think I've slept with all those women? I may be a victor, but no one has that much energy."

I don't really want to think about Finnick Odair sleeping with anyone. I hold up my hands, trying to wave away the images that pop into my brain. I'm too young to be thinking about that stuff. "I don't know, and I don't really care."

"You're impassioned defense of true romance would beg to differ."

He grabs my hand, placing it on his chest like he's going to make a pledge. His heart beat is slow and even under my palm. "Rest assured I haven't been completely defiled by the Capitol."

I move my hand away, not liking how it reacts to him. "Well, I was right. You weren't really interested in me." I try to chuckle, show that I can laugh at myself when I make a mistake. I still feel stupid though.

"I never said that."

Now I'm just annoyed. My mom is always telling me it's rude, but I roll my eyes anyway. I hate it when people play games, especially when I've been nothing but honest with them. "I don't want to like you, and I'm not some Capitol tart, so stop trying to butter me up."

"Fine. From here on out, there's nothing but honesty between you and me, Miss Annie Cresta."

"My name is Anna. Now let's go before it gets late."

Our house is about a mile away from the beach where the Victors live, which is about a twenty minute walk from the training center. My family is what people would call middle class. Dad even owns his own boat, so thankfully we never go hungry. It's impossible to miss amongst the surrounding row of white houses. Dad painted it my mom's favorite color, teal.

Along the way, Odair tries to engage me in talk, but I've already said more than enough. Monosyllable answers will have to do.

Once home, I don't even stop to explain how I'd met District Four's most beloved victor, just push open the door and call out, "Mom, dad, Finnick Odair's here. I have homework to do. Bye," as I race to my room. I've taken about three steps when my mom says, "Anna, where are your manners? And it's summer. School doesn't start for a few more weeks."

"But there's summer reading that needs to be done, not to mention the essay Mr. Sanditon assigned."

"It will have to wait, my little brainiac. We have company." She's smiling politely, but I know if I refuse, there'll be hell to pay later.

Trying not to groan, I make my way back to the living room. "Mr. Odair told me he wanted to speak with dad. I didn't want to intrude."

Odair smiles, and I can see my mom is instantly charmed. And my dad looks half way to being there too. "It wouldn't be an intrusion at all, Anna. In fact, I'd love it if you stayed. And if you called me Finnick."

"Well, that settles it," my mom emphatically states. "Anna, why don't you set the table?"

As I do this, I listen to their conversation. Apparently, Finnick had been looking for my dad for years. We'd moved since my dad got his own boat, and Finnick hadn't known where to look. If it hadn't been for Coral yelling out my name in the training center, he still wouldn't have known. I'd have to thank her later.

For dinner, we have fish. No surprise there. I should be grateful. I see some of the other districts on television. Four is one of the luckier ones. No one has to worry about going hungry, since there's always seafood and the victors' parcels available. But sometimes I would like to try something else. Steak, for instance. Every time I see the kids in the Capitol feasting before the Games, I always drool over the steak. Still, the salmon is delicious. Mom has always been quite the cook.

As I eat, I watch my parents interact with Finnick. Dad and he seem to get along really well, and I wonder why Dad never mentioned they worked together. Probably because every time I saw Finnick on the television, I complained about him. Dad must have quietly laughed at me every time. I know I would have, because I'm almost laughing now. Who knew dad was friends with a celebrity?

"What's so funny, Annie?"

I look up from my plate, trying to come up with an answer. But the salmon is dead, and so it can't offer me any advice. Not that it could have when it was alive either. "Nothing, I was just thinking about something that happened earlier." It's lame, but true, and I think it's enough. Mom and Dad seem content to let it rest.

Unfortunately, Finnick does not.

"What is it?" he asks, leaning in, grin as wide as a shark's.

"Nothing that would interest you." My voice has a slight edge to it. Mom and dad might like him, but I'm not sure it's justified.

My mom clears her throat. Code for 'mind your manners.'

"I'm just surprised you know my dad, that's all."

"Finnick and I go way back. I was friends with his father, and when Finnick was five, he started as an apprentice on the _Mariana_." The _Mariana_ was one of the fishing boats dad had worked on before he had risen in the ranks and got his own.

It's common practice in our district for boys to work on the boats at a young age. They'll clean the decks, gut the fish, practice knots on the rigging. But usually not at five years old. Most started at age eight, when they were slightly larger. It probably meant that Finnick's dad, or worse, both his parents had died. Dad had never introduced me to a Mr. Odair, and if Mrs. Odair were alive and he'd been friends with her husband, I'm sure I would have seen her around by now. I try to remember what had been said about Finnick's upbringing during his Games, but I can't. I must have missed it. In general, I don't like watching the Games and unless it's forced viewing, I spend most of my time reading instead.

Till dinner is over, Dad and Finnick regale us with tales from the sea. My mom is laughing, and even my sides are hurting. It's a nice feeling.

When we're finished, my mom stands up to clear the table and Finnick rises to help, leaving dad and me at the table. Once they're in the kitchen, Dad leans over and smiles. "Not so bad once you get to know him is he, Annie?"

"I guess, but I'd like him more if he didn't go through girls like they were underwear."

Dad chuckles. "Maybe there's a reason behind that."

"And what would that be?" I ask, trying to keep my sarcasm at a minimum. His behavior can only be explained one way and one way only. Just because Finnick is a nice guy doesn't mean I have to distort the facts to explain away all his bad behavior.

"I don't know," Dad says, but I can tell that he does. Dad does this at times, gets all secretive and thinks I don't notice. I've only stopped asking about it because my mom told me it upsets him. Still, Finnick's true motives, if he even has any, will have to remain a mystery. Dad won't tell, and I don't think I have the guts to ask Finnick about it myself.

Mom and Finnick return a few minutes later, and Dad lets us know it's his bedtime. He has to get up before dawn to go out on the boat tomorrow. They're going out deep into the sea, and he won't be coming back for a few weeks. He'll miss my sixteenth birthday and the reaping. I know he hates it. I'm always a mess at that time, but it can't be helped. The fish don't wait for anyone, not even the Capitol.

I stand up and kiss him on the cheek. "I'll miss you." The tears begin to well up in my eyes, but I won't cry. I don't want to make dad feel worse, especially over something he has no control over.

"Be a good girl while I'm gone. And be nice to your mom."

"When am I not?"

My dad wraps me in his big arms and kisses me on the temple. "You be careful alright? Love you."

"I promise. Love you too."

Dad looks over my head, and I can see him wink. "Maybe you can watch out for my girls while I'm gone, aye Finnick?"

"My pleasure, Brian. I have to head back as soon as the reaping's done, but until then, I'll keep an eye on them."

The best looking guy in all of Panem as my very own babysitter. Just what I've always wanted. "Dad, is that really necessary?"

Mom hushes me, a weary smile on her face. "Oh let him, Anna. It would give me some peace of mind."

Well, I'm glad for that, but no one consulted me about my peace of mind. I don't see anything good coming from this. And what do we need protection from anyway?

"You should come over tomorrow and meet Margaret," Finnick adds.

I hope that's his girlfriend. You'd think being a womanizer would be enough to keep me thinking straight around him, but it's not. However, if he's taken, my heart would automatically mark him off limits. I can't explain it, it's just the way I work, but I'm thankful for the off switch.

"How is the old lady?" Dad asks.

I still hold out hope. I've seen Finnick bat his long lashes at women in their sixties. It would be gross, but I don't care. A girlfriend is a girlfriend, and he needs one.

"She's as quick as ever," Finnick says.

"My dad would tell me stories about the year she won the Games. And of course I've seen the highlights. She was brilliant."

Margaret? As in the tiny, hunched over lady that sometimes comes down to the complex and watches us train? "Mags Kelpley?" I ask.

Finnick nods, looking proud. "She's my neighbor."

I wait for him to add 'and girlfriend,' but even I'm not that delusional. She must be approaching eighty, and she has obviously not taken advantage of the free Capitol enhancements.

Dad lets out a yawn, and then smiles apologetically. "Well, I hate to leave, but I really need to get some sleep. You can stay longer if you like, Finnick." Dad walks over to mom and gives her a quick kiss. "I love you. Good night, Claire."

I know mom would go with him, but there's company here. Apparently Finnick gets that too, because he says, "I'll see myself out. Thanks for having me over."

Mom gives him a grateful look, and my parents say goodnight. Dad shakes his hand, and I could swear he slips Finnick a piece of paper, but it all happens so fast, I don't really know. Then my parents head to their bedroom, leaving me behind with Finnick.

"So, do you want to walk me home?" he asks.

"That doesn't make any sense. I'd have to walk back here by myself."

"It's not even dark out, and there's no rule that says I can't walk you back here one more time."

"Again, that doesn't make any sense."

Finnick shrugs. "I guess. Maybe some other time then."

I shake my head, but he just smiles. "When should I expect you and your mother tomorrow?"

"I don't know…" I really don't want to go. This is just a recipe for disaster. I'm trying to come up with an excuse, but he's already moved on.

"Well, I assume you have an hour or two of practice after work."

"Yes. And I need to read."

"You like reading?"

"Who doesn't?" I ask, offended that anyone would think enjoying books was abnormal. The Capitol rations out everything to us, including our education. I try to learn as much as I can, but it's never enough. I know there's more out there than the confines of District Four, but exploring it isn't an option. But maybe someday...If you ask me, it's the people who don't like reading who are crazy.

I blink, breaking out of my reverie. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"You'd be surprised how many people aren't into reading. Anyway, I'll have dinner ready around seven. Is there anything in particular you want?"

Just to be flippant, I blurt out, "Steak." I doubt our district even has beef. Or cheesecake for that matter, but I ask for that too.

"You have good taste. I'll see you then. Goodnight, Annie."

I don't even try to tell him not to call me that. I know a lost cause when I see it.

"Night, Finnick."

He closes the door softly behind him, and I pick up the gym bag I'd abandoned in the front hall and head to my room. After getting out one of my summer reading books, I sit on the floor, leaning back against my bed.

After I'd read my daily goal, I lay back on my bed and finally let myself think about the night.

The minutes turn to hours, and I can only come to one conclusion: Coral's going to kill me.

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To Be Continued...


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Slowly, but surely this sucker is coming back up. This is pretty much unchanged from the last time I had this story up, but I added more about F's feelings towards Annie during their dinner. Hope you all enjoy.

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**Mad with Hunger**

**Chapter Two:**

**Finnick, Age 18, Anna, Age 15/16

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**

Rather than going home after I leave the Cresta's house, I head towards the only place I'm guaranteed some privacy. Mags showed it to me a few months after I moved in next to her in the Victors Village, told me that she had found this cave in the first year after her Hunger Games. At fourteen years old, I wasn't all that impressed. I'd seen the Capitol, witnessed all their technology and comfortable living. In comparison, the cave was small, cold, and inhospitable, but I thanked her all the same. It seemed really important to her.

It wasn't until I realized the extent of the Capitol's monitoring (all the cameras and spies and hidden bugs), that this literal hole-in-the-wall became my very own slice of Paradise.

Once I make sure no one is following me, I duck inside. The cave is about four miles from my house, hidden behind some brush. After I block off the cave's entrance, I rummage in the dark. Electric lantern. Waterproof tarp. Drinking water. All where Mags and I usually leave them. I go as deep into the rock as possible before I spread out the tarp and take a seat. As an extra precaution, I hover over the lantern and pull the edges of the tarp up and over myself, making sure that no one can see the light from the beach or sea. If I were to lose the privacy of this cave, I think I'd go insane.

Shoving a hand into my pocket, I dig out the note Brian gave me and unfold it.

_Special delivery of salmon on its way. Hope it meets expectations. Recent shipments have been delayed due to weather; crew considering new route for transport. Let me know when it arrives._

Given that Brian is going nowhere near the Capitol, I'm pretty sure this is in code. I just don't know what it's code for. But I've got an idea.

After I'd been on the _Mariana_ for a few months, I experienced my first deep sea fishing excursion. It was a long trip, and we were scheduled to be gone for a whole month. The days were wonderful. I spent them out on the deck, the cold air rifling through my hair and the sun's rays bouncing off the ocean's waves. The nights, on the other hand, were another story. Twenty boys crammed into one room on rows of bunk beds. It was everything the deck was not. Hot, muggy, smelly, loud. No privacy at all. I hated the nighttime because it meant being stuck below deck.

And when the older fishmen let us stay up one night and showed us the Northern Lights, there was no way I was going to stay down there any longer than I needed to. I can still see it now. The sky lit up in greens and purples, pinks and reds, oranges and whites. The closest thing I'd ever seen to it was the scales of a rainbow trout, but that was nothing in comparison to a whole sky full of light, unbounded and free. I thought it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen, and now, after having spent time in the Capitol, I know I was right.

The next night, I snuck out onto the ship's deck to see the lights again. The air was so cold, my bones ached even inside my parka, but I didn't care. What I was about to see more than made up for it.  
I hid behind one of the large crates on the deck, so no one would find me and send me back to that room full of snores and other unpleasant noises. The sea was calm and quiet, and for about ten minutes, I stared at the sky, uninterrupted.

In the middle of my watching, I heard the sound of a boat's engine off in the distance, which didn't make sense considering how far from land we were. Looking out over the waves, I tried to see where it was coming from. Through the fog, I could see a circle of light, like a boat's search beacon. It was barely visible, but it was there.

I went to run and tell someone when I heard some of the fishermen come on the deck. They must have heard it too and had come to investigate. If they caught me, they'd send me to bed, so I kept quiet, wanting to see what was out there. About a hundred feet away, the churning of the engine stopped.  
I tried moving farther out of sight, burrowing further into my parka, but my boot slipped on the deck, making a squeaking noise. I waited, holding my breath, hoping that no one had heard me, but of course someone had.

Brian approached me, and I thought I was going to be in trouble, but he only said, "Isn't it past your bed time, Finnick?"

It was, but that wasn't important. "What's that ship doing out there?"

"What ship?" he asked, smiling at me.

I looked out to sea, ready to point it out to him and prove him wrong, but the light had disappeared.

"It was just there. I saw it. And heard it."

Brian slowly scanned the dark waters before turning back to me. "There's nothing out there, son. Or if there is, it's probably just a mermaid. You're just really tired. Now head below deck and get some shut eye."

"But-"

"Now, Finnick."

His tone of voice left no room for argument. Disappointed, I went back to my bed.

After that night, there was always someone guarding the entrance to the boys' quarters.

I got switched to another boat after that trip, a boat that didn't go quite so far up north or quite so far out to sea. That was the last I saw of the Northern Lights.

Even now, I still don't know what that boat was doing out there. I spent countless hours thinking about it, but all the reasons I came up with made no sense. It wasn't until I'd been to the Capitol a couple of times that I was finally able to come up a semi-believable theory.

Even though everyone in the Capitol knows who I am, I can still make myself invisible. Not in a physical way, but in a way that's much more important. They've embraced me without ever taking the time to find out who I really am. Not that I would let them. I've managed to blend in to the point where they forget I wasn't actually born there, that I'm really an outsider. They think I'm one of them.

Because of this belief, they told (and still tell) me things. They spoke of people who've disappeared from the districts or from the Capitol itself. No one knew where they'd gone to, and no one really cared because the people who had vanished were merely ungrateful dissenters, lovers of the Dark Days. The Capitol citizens babbled and giggled as they pondered the fate of the missing, and they expected me to laugh too.

At first, I didn't care. I had no reason to. The people of the Capitol were insensitive and stupid, entertained by things that made normal human beings sick. I wouldn't have been surprised if they were making most of this stuff up.

But in the midst of their drunken ramblings, I started hearing other stories. That District Thirteen hadn't been completely wiped out. That some of the people had escaped underground, into their graphite mines or their nuclear facilities, depending on who was telling the tale. That the Capitol was worried District Thirteen would one day retaliate with a nuclear holocaust.

That's when I got to thinking.

Though there are no complete maps of Panem, everyone knows the basics of the country's geography. Like District Four is on the west coast. And before District Thirteen had been destroyed, it had been located north of District Twelve on the east coast. I might not have known all of Panem, but I knew my area, and the fishing maps showed that if you sailed far enough north, the land would stop, and the sea would eventually open. By land, a person could not go from District Four to District Thirteen without the Capitol's notice. They could, however, do it by sea.

It would be a very long and very cold journey, but hypothetically it could happen. No one lives that far North. It's impossible without the Capitol's technology. And since no one lives up there, there's no need for monitoring. Theoretically, a boat could make the journey without being detected.

Now if those missing people weren't actually dead, but had run away and somehow managed to make it to District Four, who's to say they couldn't hop on one of our boats, meet up with another that was on its way to District Thirteen, and escape to do who knew what?

Of course, this assumes that District Four would be willing to aid and abet a criminal. This assumption is the only part of my theory I can actually prove. The people of my district hate the Capitol, though they do a good job of masking it. The training center isn't to produce Careers who will better entertain the Capitol. It's to improve their children's odds that they'll live. Or if you ask the trainers while they're in a good mood, they'll say it's to raise an army that will one day take down the Capitol and restore the storied Dark Days.

And Brian's message does nothing to derail my theory. This special delivery of salmon might actually be a person who has disappeared and is being smuggled to District Thirteen to start a revolution.  
It's all conjecture, but I like the idea I've come up with.

This message passing didn't start with me. Mags did it before me, and I only got involved as a favor to her. She is creeping up in years, but still wants to keep in touch with one of the low-ranking Games' officials, Plutarch Heavensbee. She pointed out I got more invites to the Capitol than her, so I had more opportunities to see him. When I asked her why communicating with Plutarch was so important, she told me they were secretly married.

Typical Mags.

When I finally agreed, Plutarch started sending the messages through me. Every time I returned to District Four, they'd go straight to Mags. After I read them, of course. That first note had been about a shipment of trout. I don't know if Plutarch was stupid enough to believe I wouldn't read them, but Mags sure wasn't. She asked me what I thought of her husband's love letter writing ability the instant I delivered a note.

"Fishy," I said. "And what's fishier is you aren't the only one he writes to. Did you know that?" I'd seen Plutarch pass on some "love letters" to some other victors. Haymitch Abernathy from District Twelve. Some guy named Chaff from District Eleven, a few morphling addicts from District Six. A real ragtag bunch.

Mags merely smiled her toothy grin, totally unfazed. "Plutarch and I have what you would call an open relationship," she said.

"Oh really?"

"Yes. I'm too young to be tied down to just one man, even one as good looking as Plutarch."

If I were a woman, age wouldn't be the only thing keeping me from being tied down by Plutarch Heavensbee. He's decent for a Capitol citizen, but the guy is about as attractive as a sleeper shark, with eyes just as beady and a nose just as big.

Every time I delivered a message I'd ask Mags what they were about, but she'd never tell me. Naturally, she didn't say it like that. It was always, "Plutarch's just telling me how much he loves me in his funny way." Or something equally ridiculous. But it had to be something more. Messages about fish aren't that important. So why couldn't they say this stuff over the phone? Something was up. I just didn't know what. And I still don't. All I have is theories.

I read the message one more time before feeding it into the flame and extinguishing the fire. It's late and I have a steak dinner to think about, so I head home.

The next day, I had everything prepared early. Got the steak _and _the cheesecake, though that had required some flirting with the butcher's wife and the baker's daughter. I had a couple hours to kill before dinner, so I went down to the training center again.

I was instantly mobbed by the potential Careers, though not by the one I was hoping for. For a few minutes, I answered their questions and signed their autographs. Then I left, wandering around the different training stations in search of my dinner guest.

I find Annie kneeling over some old pieces of debris, giving instructions to another trainee, a guy, on how to turn the trash into a fishhook. He's good looking with black hair and eyes as green as mine, and if he didn't look about thirteen years old, I'd probably be jealous. The kid is hardly paying attention. He's too busy looking at her face, and she doesn't even notice, she's so intent on teaching him.

I silently make my way around, so that neither of them notices me. After watching Annie struggle for a couple of minutes, I have mercy. Wrapping my arms around her, I feel her start, but she doesn't move away. I could draw this out, enjoy the softness of her shiny brown hair against my face, but I have this hunch that I'd only wind up with an elbow in my gut for my troubles, so I quickly make the fishhook.

"Beautiful," I say, looking down at my finished work.

You'd think she'd be appreciative. The boy doesn't look too happy with me either, but that I can understand. He'll learn to get over it. It's not like he had any chance with her to begin with. But just to show him that it's not personal, I smile at him over her shoulder.

"I could have done that myself," she says, finally scrambling out of my hold.

"And I couldn't have done it without you," I say, not moving from my place on the floor. They both stand to their feet, and she's about to walk away when I call out, "So, Annie, what time should I expect you for dinner?"

They both turn red, but probably for different reasons. My words ripple outwards, causing a bit of a disturbance in the surrounding area. One girl, who looks an awful lot like Annie's little student, even gasps.

Annie's still recovering when the boy steps forward. I'm being challenged, so I have to get up from the floor. "Her name is Anna," he tells me.

"And who are you?" I ask.

"Cliff Malley."

I stick out my hand. "My name's Finnick." _Now run along_, I silently add.

"I know." His grip is pretty strong for someone his age, and even though he stands no chance and is starting to annoy me, I have to admire his attitude. He doesn't look like he'll budge, but then Annie comes up behind him and touches him on the shoulder. "Thanks, Cliff. I'll see you tomorrow and we can try that fishhook again."

He deflates, but he's too smitten to argue with her. "Alright. Bye, Anna."

When he's gone, she comes up to me, clearly not happy. "Was it really necessary for you to say that so  
loudly? Now my friend is going to be upset with me."

"What friend? The little boy?"

"No. The not so little girl who's glaring at me over your shoulder."

I look. Sure enough Annie's friend is angry, but when she sees me looking, her glare melts into a smile. I wave and then turn back to Annie. "I think she's forgiven you."

She wants to argue with me, I can tell, but she stops. "You're right."

"I'm glad you agre-"

"Hey, Coral, come over here, would you?" Annie shouts to her friend.

And then as fast as lightning moving across the water, Annie's friend is standing next to me, so close we're almost touching. She's the female version of her brother, which is to say she's very good looking. But she's just a little too obvious.

"Finnick was just telling me he wanted to meet you. Finnick, this is Coral, Cliff's older sister. And Coral, this is Finnick Odair, winner of the 65th Hunger Games."

"Nice to meet you, Coral."

She giggles.

Annie's smile grows wider. "Are you busy tonight, Coral?"

"No. Not at all."

"Would you like to come to dinner with me and my mom at Finnick's?"

"Really?" Coral turns to look at me, and I can't really say no, of which Annie is very much aware.

"The more the merrier," I say.

"Awesome," Coral says between more giggles.

Awesome indeed.

* * *

Dinner is worse than I thought it would be. I blame it on Annie's friend, Coral. And Annie. Thankfully, Coral has to leave right after dessert.

Once she's gone, Claire turns to Annie. "What has gotten into her? She's not normally so…"

"Ditzy?" Mags asks.

"Yes," Claire laughs. "Ditzy."

"I don't know. Maybe it was all the sugar from the cheesecake," Annie says, not meeting my accusing gaze. "Excuse me, could you tell me where the restroom is?" she asks.

"Upstairs, around the corner, second door on the left," Mags answers even though it's my house.

"Thanks." And then she leaves me with Mags and Claire. The conversation is so lively, and I can't remember when I've had this much fun. Thirty minutes have passed when Claire says, "I wonder where Anna went."

Good question. "I'll go find her," I say.

"Don't be gone too long," Mags calls out as I run up the stairs.

I find Annie in the room I had tried, unsuccessfully, to turn into a study. There's a desk with paper and pens strewn across it. A picture or two of my parents. I even have some books. I'd probably have more, but the Capitol isn't too fond of parting with its reading materials, in spite of the fact that they have millions of titles in their library and hardly anyone ever reads them. They had taken all the books at the very end of the Dark Days, and now the Capitol is the only place where you can find that lost knowledge. Saving it for posterity's sake. Or so they say.

My books are gifts from one of my admirers, whose name I can't remember. She'd found out my interest in marine life and the next day, twenty books on the topic were delivered to my hotel.  
A few of the books are open. Annie's been reading, but she's not anymore. Now she's standing in front of my fireplace, looking at the trident displayed above the mantle. My sponsors gave it to me as a gift during my Games. The most expensive gift ever given to a tribute.

"I think it looks good up there, don't you?" I ask.

She turns around, startled, but then looks back at my trident. "The most beautiful instrument of death I've ever seen. Do you polish it often?"

Her words are cold, and part of me resents her for thinking my time in the arena was just fun and games. She wasn't there. She has no idea what it's like.

"No. My killing days are over," I say, just as coldly.

She opens her mouth, but I don't want to answer any more questions. "We should head back down, or they'll think we're up to no good."

When we enter the dining room, Claire is standing up. "I need to head home, but I had a wonderful time, Finnick. The meal was delicious. I've never had steak before."

"You'll have to come over again sometime. Perhaps tomorrow?" I say. After all, I did make a promise to watch over his family while he is gone.

Claire looks over at Annie, who just shrugs her shoulders. "Alright, we'll be here. Anna, are you coming home or do you want to stay longer?"

"I'd like to stay." I hide my surprise by picking up the dirty plates from the table and depositing them in the sink.

"Alright, dear, but no longer than an hour. OK?"

"Yes, mom."

"I'll make sure she gets home safely, Mrs. Cresta," I hear myself saying, still disbelieving that Annie is willingly staying here any longer. I thought the whole trident conversation had scared her away, but now I'm wondering if that's why she's staying around. I hope not. I don't want to talk about the Hunger Games. I get asked about them enough as it is.

Mags leaves with Mrs. Cresta, and when they close the door it's just me and Annie.

"So when I was upstairs…" she begins, and I'm already cringing, "…I saw a book on mermaids."

I remember that book. Not what I would consider marine life, but it made for some good stories. It also had some beautiful illustrations.

"Did you want to borrow it?" I ask.

"Could I?" Her green eyes sparkle like emeralds. It's a brilliant green jewel that I've seen countless times, hanging from the ears or necks of the people of the Capitol.

"I wouldn't offer you something and then take it away from you," I say, a little bit annoyed.

Annie's eyes slightly narrow, but she doesn't say anything other than, "Thanks."

Then the conversation pretty much dies. Now it's too quiet. I pick up another piece of cheesecake and start eating it. "Do you know anything about mermaids?" I ask in between chews.

"Not much, but my dad would tell me stories about them when I was little." She grabs another piece of dessert and leans against the dining table, just like me. "I wanted to be one so badly, you would not believe."

I remember wanting to become a seal. Or a gull, so I could fly back to the Northern Lights. Kids always wish for silly things. They don't know better. "Don't you think it would be a bit awkward having a tail instead of two legs?"

"But you could live in the sea. Swim wherever you want to, see whatever you want to … be absolutely free." She's looking off into the distance, somewhere over my shoulder. Her eyes as deep and turbulent as the ocean. "I bet mermaids don't have to worry about rea-"

Before she can finish that sentence, I'm leaning down close to her, my mouth at her ear. She looks up in shock and possibly anger, accidentally dropping her fork, which clatters loudly on the floor. She probably thinking I'm going to kiss her, but I'm not. I'm not even thinking about that. "Not here," I whisper as softly as I can. "It's not safe."

I pull back, look her in the eyes and see that she gets it. Someone could be listening.

Annie kneels down to pick up her fork. "Sorry about that. I've been really klutzy lately."

"Probably has something to do with being in close proximity to me."

"Yeah. Right." She plays at being cool, but she won't look me directly in the eyes anymore. This could be fun.

I hand her a new fork and try not to smirk at how she almost drops it again when my fingers brush hers.

She spears her cheesecake and continues speaking, choosing her words carefully. "I still think being a mermaid would be more fun than being human. They can breathe underwater, and they never have to worry about what to wear."

"So essentially you're telling me you want to be naked?"

"What? No!' She laughs loudly, her embarrassment forgotten by my "shocking" statement. "Why would you say that?" she asks, smacking me on the arm and almost dropping her plate in the process.

I shrug. "You said-"

"I know what I said. But I didn't mean it in that way. Besides, mermaids can wear shells."

I reach out and take a strand of her locks in my fingers. It's as soft as it looks. "Or you could strategically drape your hair. Though I can't imagine it staying in place while you swim."

I know I shouldn't be flirting with her. Even if Annie weren't Brian's daughter, she's still young. Smarter than most girls her age, but obviously not schooled in interacting socially with the opposite sex. Which I think is part of her charm. That, and she's very, very pretty. Still, when Brian entrusted her to my care, I hardly think his idea of protection included me kissing his daughter.

I watch her as she fights against smiling. Her jaw clenches, and she tries to act completely unaffected, but the blush in her cheeks is a dead giveaway. Pulling her hair out of my fingers, she says, "You're lucky you're so good looking, Finnick. Otherwise people would realize how ridiculous the things coming out of your mouth actually are."

She walks away, pausing at the foot of my staircase. "I'd like to get that book now, if you don't mind."

I follow her wordlessly up the stairs, watching the way the light shines on her long, brown hair. Once in my study, I ask her to read aloud from that mermaid book. She's hesitant at first, but once she gets going, she really gets into it.

I lean my head against the back of my couch and listen. Her voice changes to fit the mood of the story. Calm and gentle most of the time, energetic and powerful when needed, but always full of emotion. I like her voice, and find it soothing. A perfect contrast with the the loud bombast I usually hear from people clamoring for my attention. Though Annie doesn't seem very interested in that. She's too lost in the story. Before I know it, it's time for me to walk her home.

After that night, I don't really let Annie out of my sight. Every day I'm at the training center, somehow managing not to punch Caspian Bligh for being such a lecher. Every night she and her mom have dinner with me and Mags, and I walk her home, somehow managing not to kiss her.

I've hinted to Mags that I like Annie, but she doesn't think it's smart, so I don't act on it. It gets harder not to the closer the reaping draws near. Annie doesn't like talking about it, but I can tell she's sick with fear and misses her dad. Sometimes when she reads from the mermaid book, I look up to see tears falling silently down her face.

I want to comfort her, but what can I do? I'm safe from the Games; she's not, and she's most likely not thinking about getting a boyfriend. As a friend, I can't even hold her and tell her it will be alright, because I don't really know that. If you're between the ages of twelve and eighteen and you haven't won the Games already, you never know if you'll be called. And all the training and preparation doesn't help. I'd done that for years, and hearing my name was still like a knife to the gut.

Eventually the day of the reaping comes. It's always horrible, but this year it's unbearable. I'm a mentor for the first time, and I'm praying that it won't be Annie, that the odds will actually be in her favor. I don't think I could stand watching her in that arena.

When the girl's name is called, I hold my breath, careful not to show any emotion to the camera. Just smile and wink. Distract the people.

The woman whose only job is to pull out that stupid slip of paper sure takes her time doing it. No doubt she's trying to build the suspense and drama for those people watching from the comfort and safety of their Capitol homes. If my anger doesn't kill me, I might just drop dead from a heart attack.

She holds the thin slip in the air, triumphant as a victor. But then a soft wind pulls it from her fingers and she's chasing it across the stage, almost losing her green-blue wig in the process. When she finally catches up with it, she's out of breath.

"Whoops," she giggles. "Let's try that one more time."

And then she opens the slip and says the name of District Four's female tribute for the sixty-ninth Hunger Games.

It's not Annie.

It's like coming up from under the water after struggling to reach the surface. The air returns to my lungs, which burn with relief, just like the rest of me. I don't even pay attention when the name of the male tribute is pulled. Some mentor I am.

During the time the tributes get with their friends and family, I say good-bye and an early happy birthday to Annie, who's turning 16 next week. We're in the "privacy" of my home, and I think about kissing her, but Mags is right. Love and Panem are mutually exclusive. One can't exist while the other does. I don't love Annie, but if I let myself like her, I'm one step closer. I'm safest without attachment, and so is Annie. But that doesn't stop me from thinking about what I'll get her for her birthday while I'm away. Another book on mermaids. Maybe some emerald jewelry.

"I'll miss you, Finnick," she whispers in my ear, so quiet no one can hear but me.

I hug her in return, burying my face for a few moments in her hair. Then I leave to board the train that will take me back to the Capitol.

Someone from District Two won that year's Hunger Games. District Four's tributes fought hard and valiantly, made it past the Final Eight, but in the end, they both died.

Their names were Opal Vast and Andrew Waverly. They were both sixteen years old.

Just like Annie.

* * *

To Be Continued


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: Again, very few changes made. Most will be occurring in the next chapter. I'm finally finished with school, so I'm hoping to post more. We'll see.

* * *

**Mad With Hunger**

**Chapter Three:**

**Anna, 16, Finnick, 19

* * *

**

I wake from a restless sleep, tired and unable to move. The sun is seeping in through the cracks around my shade. The resultant glow is beautiful, especially when contrasted with the darkness of my room. I would stay in bed just staring at it if I could, but that would only lead to my eventual arrest.

Today is the day of the Reaping and attendance is mandatory. Pushing the covers off of me, I make my way to the closet. Thrusting my hand inside, I feel around for my outfit. The soft material of one of the few dresses I own brushes against my fingers, so different in texture from the clothes I normally wear to work, training, and school. Taking off my pajamas, I pull my outfit over me. Every eligible boy and girl is obligated to wear their best. For me, that happens to be a blue dress. On normal days, it floats and flutters around me as I walk, like there is a breeze caressing the space around me, liable to lift me off the ground. Today, it's as confining as a shroud.

Outside the bathroom, my mom waits for me to finish brushing my teeth and washing my face. We make our way to the kitchen, and I sit down at the table. There's a plate of breakfast food in front of me, but I'm not that hungry. For my mom's sake, I tear at the bread and force it down. I try to push thoughts of death aside as my mom painstakingly curls my hair. Since it hangs down the entire length of my back, the process takes nearly an hour. An hour of silence, since neither of us is eager to talk. I can't speak for my mom, but I think discussing the possibility of being chosen makes this all seem more real. At least this way, I can pretend she's fixing my hair for some other special event. Like my upcoming birthday. I'm going to be seventeen.

When she's finished, there is still another hour to kill before I must be at the City Square. It ends up being an hour wasted. I can't eat anything. Reading is impossible. And talking? If I so much as utter a word, I'll burst into tears. This is not promising, because if I'm already this messed up inside, I can't even imagine what I'd do if I were actually chosen. And a Career breaking down in sobs would not reflect well on my district. Or me.

Eventually, I take off for the City Square. As I draw closer, I notice that the storefronts are decorated. It's the same in all the districts on reaping day. But because we are a Career district, the store owners go all out. You would think there was going to be a party, the square looks so beautiful. The only thing that dampens the mood are the whispers I keep hearing about the tributes from District One and Two. Apparently they are big. Bigger than any of the Careers we have. Given the time of day, District Three is in the middle of their reaping, but they haven't had a winner in over ten years, and no one really expects anything from then.

I somehow make it to the Justice Building and join the other sixteen year olds. Coral finds me immediately, and we briefly hug. I glance around. Spot a few of my friends in the crowd. Coral's brother, Cliff, is in his section with the fourteen year olds. When he sees me looking at him, he waves. Like most people in the District, he's caught up in the anticipation and excitement of the Games.

The Capitol crew is making their final preparations before they go live for the reaping. There is a row of chairs, filled with our representative Margie Chiffon (this year wearing a green wig and white suit) and the surviving twelve victors of District Four. Finnick's sitting there, dressed in a gray suit with seafoam green tie, as handsome as ever, and just as unattainable.

I was right about easily falling for him. You would think that in identifying the danger, I would have avoided it, guarded my heart a little better, but I didn't. Maybe it was because after I got to know Finnick, he seemed nothing like Caspian Bligh. Or maybe it was because he made me laugh, liked my parents, and loved Mags. For whatever reason, I had found it very easy to believe there was something more to Finnick Odair than the image he projected for the Capitol's cameras. I liked this Finnick, and I thought that the feeling was mutual.

But when he returned from last year's Games, my delusion became increasingly apparent. I did see him, occasionally. He stopped by at the Training Center every once in a while, though never to speak with me unless it was to find fault. He would come over to visit my father, go fishing with him. Would even spend time with my mother, but I was nothing more than wall paper during those visits. And of course, I saw him on television, making love to the cameras and who knows what else. It hurt, but it was more humiliating than anything else. I should have known better than to think I had caught his eye.

If my life weren't currently on the line, I'd probably care just a little more. Maybe I'd be slightly more irritated with him for shutting me out, and highly annoyed with myself for even liking him in the first place. But right now all I can do is hope that my name is not picked. Romance tends to go out the window when your life is on the line. Or at least it should.

A hush comes over the crowd, which means it's time for the reaping to begin. I go cold all over. Nothing's really registering. I just see people moving around the stage. I've seen enough reapings in my life to know what's happening. Margie comes forward and welcomes everyone to this most exciting event. Then she introduces all the past District Four winners to loud applause. When Finnick's name is read off, the crowd goes especially wild, chanting his name. In all, it takes about ten minutes. Now, with all the preliminaries completed, our district representative paws around the ball for that one fateful slip. I hold my breath, clenching my jaw in case my nightmares come true and my name is called.

When I hear the lady announce that Anna Cresta is the female tribute from District Four, I wait for myself to wake up. My heart is pounding, sweat is pooling between my shoulder blades like it does right before I wake up from a nightmare. It's then that Coral squeezes my hand, and I know that I'm really and truly awake.

I know there are people in my district who would consider this an honor. After all, District Four is known for its success in the Games, but I have never wanted this. Never believed I could win the Hunger Games.

I move toward the stage, still not breathing. The most I've held my breath was for three and a half minutes. I'm approaching that limit now, but what was once so easy and natural is lost on me. All I can do is take one step closer to what will certainly be my death.

I'm on stage now, watching as the representative digs around for the male's name. Black begins to encroach on my vision and I'm getting lightheaded from the lack of oxygen, but I still can't breathe. The ground rushes towards me as I stumble forward, and I close my eyes, waiting for the pain of impact.

No one notices. They are too busy watching the name of District Four's male tribute being called. But I don't hit the ground. Someone's arm is at my elbow, steadying me now as my throat and lungs open up again. Gasping, I turn to see who's rescued me from disgracing myself on tv, and my eyes meet the familiar sea green of Finnick's gaze.

I open my mouth to say something, at least utter a thank you, but he's already looked away, staring out into the crowd, giving an infinitesimal shake of his head. His hand moves to my back, and he's pushing me towards District Four's male tribute: Cliff Malley.

Cliff may be taller and stronger than me, but right now, I can only think of him as my best friend's baby brother. He's only fourteen, and that's not old enough to win the Games. Not when there are older, larger, and more experienced tributes coming from Districts One and Two.

I look into the crowd and my eyes meet with Coral's. She's normally so full of life, bubbly and energetic, but now she stares straight through me, her hands closed tightly in fists at her side. It doesn't matter if Cliff or I win, she will lose someone.

As the representative from our district asks if there are any volunteers to replace Cliff, I wait with little hope. No one volunteered in my place, and there are no standouts this year among our eighteen year olds in the training center. The volunteer tributes like to wait until they've achieved true physical maturity before they offer to play in the Games, increasing their odds of winning. But unless a person is convinced they will win, they would have to be insane to willingly walk into death. As I expected, no one volunteers for Cliff.

After the Treaty of Treason is read, Cliff and I are ushered into the Justice Building to say our goodbyes. I have few relationships with people, but they all run deep. My friends come first. They know this is not what I want, and rather than talking about "it", we pretend as if meeting in the Justice Building is something we do on a regular basis. We share some jokes, they tell me they love me, and that they cannot wait to spend time with me in my new house in the Victor's Village when I return.

We're discussing how we'll decorate the drapes when I realize Coral is standing in the doorway, waiting to speak with me. My other friends, who do not belong to the Training Center, make their good-byes.

If people were to look at us based on our personalities, they probably wouldn't believe that Coral and I are friends. She's popular and outgoing, and I pretty much keep to myself. It's not that I don't have the same energy as she does. I do. I just can't show it to people unless I feel safe and accepted by them. But deep down, Coral and I share one thing in common. We are both dorks and are very good at hiding it. She will laugh at anything, even my unfunny jokes. And her laughter is contagious. Whenever she enters a room, smiles are sure to follow. And that's what makes her tear-filled eyes so horrible right now.

She sits down next to me, sagging against the wall. "My best friend and my baby brother."

There really is no answer for that. We could rage against the unfairness of it all, but when the Capitol murders 23 children every year for their entertainment, you begin to question if things like justice even exist. Maybe that's why we like to laugh so much. It feels better than crying.

I grasp her hand, and she gives me a weak smile. "I think you have a shot at winning this…" her voice cracks, so she stops speaking. I think she believes she's telling me the truth, but what an awful truth it is. I can't even say thank you, because my victory means her brother's death.

After a minute of silence, she speaks again. "Be careful, OK, Anna?"

"You know me, I couldn't be carefree if I tried."

"Always so cautious, over-thinking everything. But that's why I love you. I can't tell you how many times you've saved me from doing something stupid. Like that time I wanted to shave my head bald."

Ah, yes. I remember that time. Coral had wanted to impress a boy who had a crush on a beautiful victor from District Two. Part of her hair had been burned off during her games, and at the end, she got a close-cropped haircut. Her appearance at her final interview sparked a trend in the Capitol, and all the women rushed to style their hair just like hers. Coral, as rash as I am careful, had to take it a step further. When she told me about her idea, I said the same thing that I say now, "People really ought to consider the structure of their skulls before they choose that hair style option."

Coral manages a strangled laugh. "No kidding. I must have spent an hour that day, feeling the shape of my head. I had no idea it was so lumpy. Could you imagine how ugly it would look like without my hair?"

"Thankfully I don't have to. And if I did, I would have forced you to wear my hat."

Coral screws her face up at the suggestion. She's about as fond of my hat as she is of sea slugs.

I've almost forgotten about the Hunger Games when one of the Peacekeepers lets me know my mom is waiting to speak with me.

"Just another minute," I say, before preparing to say goodbye to my best friend. The peacekeeper leaves the room, and all of a sudden Coral bursts into tears. I pull her into my arms and hug her, barely keeping from crying myself.

"Anna?"

"Yes?"

"I don't know how to say this…I would never ask you to sacrifice your life for my brother's, but…will you watch out for him while you can?"

She pulls back, and I can see she's nervous. Her brother's life is on the line, and we both know I could be resentful that she's holding me to this kind of promise. But if things were reversed, I would be doing the same thing. "Of course. Just like in training."

"Thank you. You've been...I'm going to miss you so much."

I swallow the sob in my throat, which feels so incredibly tight I can hardly breathe. I try to find a way to say good-bye, but Coral runs out of the room. I don't think either of us are that great with good-byes. It's understandable. I don't know about Coral, but I've never had to say good-bye to someone, never expecting them to return. That's probably a good thing, but it leaves me wholly unprepared for the hardest good-bye I have to make.

As much as my mom and I don't see eye to eye on trivial things like how to set the table or running in the house, I have never once had reason to doubt her love for me. I can see it now as she struggles to keep her emotions in check. Dad is out to sea again, and she must project the strength and love of two parents. But I know that deep down, she's just as scared as I am.

She pulls me into her arms and strokes my hair, lightly rubbing my scalp, the way she's always done since I was a baby. "You have always made me and your father so proud, Anna. And I know that you are going to do just fine."

I nod my head and work up a smile, project a confidence I don't feel. "When I win, we can paint our new house teal."

"That would be beautiful. I can't wait to see it."

We sit there a few minutes in silence as she rocks me back and forth in her arms. I want to lose myself in the safety I find there, but all I can do is wonder about how much time is left. I know it's running out, but there is still so much to say. How do you compress all the years of interactions you thought you were going to get in the space of five minutes? You can't.

"Would you please tell dad that I love him?" I finally ask.

"He already knows."

"But he might feel guilty for being away…" If I don't come back, I don't want him torn up about that. He'll grieve, but it shouldn't be over anything more than my death.

"He's going to feel guilty no matter what, but I'll try."

"I know…And would you tell him that I was alright? That I wasn't scared?"

"Of course." She pushes the hair back from my face and kisses my forehead. "I love you, my little brainiac."

The peacekeeper has come knocking again, and I know my time is up. "I love you too, mom. I'll see you…soon."

* * *

Things are pretty quiet on the train down to the Capitol. The only thing really of note is our dinner, but even that is a relaxed affair. Most of it is spent with Mags regaling us with stories about the mentors from the other districts. Finnick keeps pretty quiet, but he gets in his own stories about some drunkard from District Twelve that even has Cliff laughing.

The slow and relaxed beginning to our trip stands in stark contrast to our arrival in the Capitol. As soon as we step off the train, we are mobbed by well wishers. Or as Mags likes to call them, Finnick Odair's fan club.

I admit, there is some jealousy, especially when I see so many women throw themselves at Finnick. Well, that's not so bad in itself. I'm more bothered that he seems to like it. In fact, he's lapping it up. I remind myself that I'm about to be thrown into an arena with 23 other people whose survival depends on my death. You would think I'd be focused on more important things than who Finnick is winking and smiling at. But I'm not. I think I've entered some kind of melancholy state where everything bothers me, even the little things. Coral would tell me to snap out of it and just enjoy what I can. So I try, but there isn't much that's enjoyable about meeting my prep team. They don't look human, they talk in annoying accents, and one of the first things they do is strip me naked and give me a full body wax.

As they pour hot wax on me and rip the hair off my body, we reintroduce ourselves. My team consists of three women: Livia, Petra, and Claudia. They are actually identical triplets who have differentiated themselves by dyeing their skin, hair, and eyes a different color from each other. Livia is green, Petra is blue, and Claudia is purple. I've seen people like this on tv before, but it's so different in person. It's hard for me not to stare. They remind me of the crayons I used to color with when I was little.

As they continue to inflict their own special brand of torture on me, they try to lure me into conversation. You'd be amazed how many questions they ask about Finnick. I know I am. Seriously, I like him, but I don't spend my time wondering about things like how he takes his coffee or what shampoo he uses. I have no idea why they would expect me to know. It's not like Finnick and I are friends anymore.

I'm just starting to recuperate from the waxing when they tell me to prepare for my costume fitting and meeting with their boss, Agrippina. They make me stand on a podium as they circle around me, looking for all my flaws and making comments about them like I'm not even there. The insults aren't too bad. I don't care for or respect their opinions anyway. What bugs me is that they can't seem to do their jobs unless I'm naked.

As I listen to them chatter, I find out that Cliff and I will be dressed as something they call Greek gods. Supposedly, we make the perfect Aphrodite and Poseidon. I have no idea who they are, and when I say as much, they can barely hide their contempt. But how can they expect me to know about them? That kind of "cultural" information—literature, history, philosophy, music, any of the arts—is strictly guarded by the Capitol. The people of the districts are too low-born for such things. We'd only misunderstand it and hurt ourselves. Instead, we get books on fisheries and boats.

After my prep team gets over their shock at my ignorance, I'm told that Aphrodite and Poseidon were two gods in the religion of an ancient people called the Greeks. Aphrodite was the goddess of love, who was born out of the sea, while Poseidon was the god of the sea itself.

That doesn't sound so bad. Not at first. But as they describe their vision, my stomach starts to twist. My costume consists of nothing more than my hair strategically arranged around certain parts of my body. I'm to stand on a large shell, completely naked, while the people of the Capitol look at me. At least Cliff will have a trident, even a cloth wrapped around his waist. I will be weaponless and bare, vulnerable in every sense of the word.

My designer, Agrippina, finally shows up. With an air of importance, she does the exact same thing that the rest of the prep team did, circling my platform with a critical eye, only she looks like a pink crayon instead. She walks around me about five times in complete silence, then utters some commands I don't understand and tells them to get her when they're finished.

As the triplets start fixing me up, my team oohs and ahs over my long, brown hair, curling and twisting it as they tell me my hair was actually the inspiration for Agrippina's costume choice. Apparently, ever since my designer saw me at the reaping, she'd been picturing me like this. If I had known that, I would have shaved my head bald, funny shaped skull or not.

After they're finished, they call for Agrippina, and when she arrives, they put me back up on that podium and take a step back so they can admire their work,. I don't know why, since I'm not wearing anything they created. It's just my body, and they weren't there for all those hours of swimming and training I put in to look like this, so they shouldn't take credit for it. But I keep my mouth shut, because to correct them would actually mean I cared what they thought, and I don't.

The purple one of my prep team holds up her hands in the shape of a frame and sighs, "Just like Botticelli's Venus." The other two sisters nod in agreement. Maybe I would too if I knew what they were talking about.

Agrippina gives a slight smile, trying not to show she is affected by the prep team's adoration, but not really succeeding. "Exactly what I was going for, though I doubt anyone will understand my subtlety. It's probably too sophisticated for most of the audience, but it's about time someone exposed the rabble in the districts to the higher arts. The Hunger Games are diverting, but any animal can enjoy them. I want my work to appeal to the physical and the spiritual." She pauses dramatically before speaking what I'm sure she believes is an earth-shattering revelation, "I want to bring class to the Games."

The triplets nod their heads solemnly, soaking up all the idiocy dripping from Agrippina's mouth. I, on the other hand, am so angry I could spit. First, what is subtle and intellectual about parading around a naked girl for other people's amusement? Absolutely nothing. And second, the "rabble" in the districts don't find anything diverting about the Hunger Games. How could they? It's their children dying. And if she thinks it's possible to add a spiritual element or class to the Games, she's deluded. There is nothing that will make the Hunger Games anything other than barbaric, and anyone who thinks otherwise is a monster. All of this is bubbling inside my brain, burning my tongue. I want to shout it at them, but I don't. Truth and honesty are too good for these people, and I would only be wasting my breath. I bite my lip so hard to keep from speaking, it starts to bleed.

The blue one says, "You are brilliant, Agrippina. And so kind. I've never seen anyone care so much for other people as you do."

"I know," Agrippina says. Sorry, mom. I can't help it. I roll my eyes.

"We should let Finnick see," says the green one. Then she adds, "And Mags too," as an afterthought.

At the sound of his name I almost fall over. I was so busy being angry at my prep team, I had forgotten all about my mentors. Mags seeing me naked is bad enough, but Finnick? For some reason, my eyes start to tear up. I try to understand why they'd do that. It's not like I picture myself naked in front of guys very often. In fact, I haven't at all, but I just always thought that when this happened, it would be under better circumstances. Like where I had some say in the matter. I had wanted to be cherished and appreciated by one and one person only, not ogled and lusted after by the Caspian Blighs of the world. And it doesn't matter how often I hear my prep team comment on how the audience is going to love me and think me beautiful. I can't feel anything other than cheap.

When they're called into the room, I set my teeth and look straight forward at the wall, pretending that I'm all alone. But while I can refuse to see them, I can't block out the conversation.

"So, what do you think? Doesn't she look fabulous?" Agrippina asks.

"Where is it?" Mags states bluntly.

"Where is what?" Claudia says, somewhat confused.

"Her costume?"

"What are you talking about? That _is_ the costume," Claudia says somewhat rudely. She doesn't call Mags an old hag, but you can hear the insinuation in her tone. But Mags isn't some feeble old lady. She's more than capable of taking care of herself, which she reminds me of yet again when she answers Claudia back.

"You call that a costume? It's just her hair wrapped around her private parts."

An overwhelming rush of gratitude courses through me at her words, and I almost falter and look over. But I know Mag's comments won't be enough to change my team's minds. They don't respect her. But if Finnick were to say something…

"And what do you think, Finnick?" Agrippina asks.

I manage to turn my head, pleading with my eyes for him to say that this is a mistake. But my pleas are ignored, because he's not looking at me. He's staring at Agrippina, chewing his lip thoughtfully.

"I heard that the tributes from Districts 1 and 2 will be going without clothes too. Don't get me wrong, it looks great, but by the time our chariot goes out, the people will most likely be desensitized by all the nudity."

I see Mags lift her eyebrow and know she's having the same thought as me. The Capitol has already been desensitized. For ages. It's a lame excuse, but right now it's all I have.

Agrippina's face sours, but Finnick's words seem to have worked magic on the triplets, even though he's basically said what Mags did.

"You know, Agrippina, he might be right," Livia says, though it's hardly above a whisper. I'm guessing Agrippina isn't used to having her team talk back. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Finnick smiling at Livia, and my lip curls at the way she giggles. Mags sees my reaction, and I start to blush though I'm sure she already knows how I feel about her neighbor.

It seems Finnick's flirting has made Livia and her sisters courageous, because they're all giving reasons about how nakedness was so last season. Agripinna is starting to look angry, and apparently she paces when she's upset. She begins stalking around me, sizing me up again. "Well, what do you suggest then since my ideas are so stupid?"

"Maybe a blue dress or…" His voice trails off, and Agrippina leans forward like the predator that she is. "Yes?"

"You could make her into a mermaid," he says.

I turn to Agrippina, my heart in my throat. She blinks, and then her face lights up with a smile. Resting a hand on Finnick's arm, she coos, "That's genius!"

Finnick grins. "Maybe I should try my hand at designing."

"Well, if you need any help, you'll let me know," Agrippina says, licking her lips.

"Naturally. Now if you lovely ladies will excuse us, Mags and I need to go check on Cliff."

As soon as they leave, Agrippina's barking out orders. By the time they're done, my hair is hanging down my front, which is covered in shells. My legs are pretty much bound together by a tight, shimmery green floor length skirt. It's hard to stand in, but I'll take balance issues over feelings of worthlessness any day.

This time, when they call in Finnick and Mags to see my costume, I don't feel like crying. I even manage a smile, which is returned by Mags.

And Finnick.

* * *

**To Be Continued**


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I own nothing except for the copies of Mockingjay I just pre-ordered! AHHHHH! Peeta must live!

A/N: So, I made some changes to this sucker. Over all, the effect is the same, but I wanted to fix what I thought were discrepancies in Annie's actions and my perceptions of her. I'll probably go back and change this some, because I've been just trying to finish it, since it's been taking me forever. Hopefully it doesn't suck too much. =P

* * *

**Chapter Four:**

**Finnick 19/Annie 17

* * *

**

"I've got to hand it to you," Mags says, poking me in the ribs after we've seen Annie in her new mermaid outfit. She has that twinkle in her eye, and I can guess where this is headed.

"What for?" I ask. Stupidly.

"I didn't see you look at Annie once, even though the Great Pink One had her on that pedestal stark naked."

"Yeah, well…" I trail off, running my fingers through my hair. I can't really explain to Mags why I didn't look or why I wanted Agrippina to change Annie's costume. There are a few explanations, some she'd find more acceptable than others. The best one is that I know Annie wouldn't want anyone to see her like that. And while that plays a big role in it, probably the biggest role, there's also part of me that did it because I was jealous. I know I have no right to feel this way, especially since I've basically been ignoring her for a year, but the idea of sharing Annie with the slobbering Capitol dogs makes me want to destroy something. If I couldn't see her, they sure as hell weren't going to.

"She probably likes you even more now," Mags says in a way that lets me know she doesn't approve. Normally we both avoid the topic of Annie, but the reaping has changed everything. Still, I don't feel safe saying anything here. The Training Center is probably more wired than our houses in the Victors' Village.

Mags must be clairvoyant because she says, "I've spent too much time inside, what with being cooped up on the train and now here. Let's go to the roof."

I follow her wordlessly to the top of the building and breathe a little bit easier once we open the door and step onto the terrace. There's a slight breeze, just enough that the warm night air feels comforting instead of claustrophobic. The bright lights of the Capitol sparkle around me, and I spare a second to think about the first time I visited this roof. I walk towards the edge and peer down at the people below, strolling along the wide avenues of asphalt and activity that seem to stretch endlessly, like a vast sea of concrete. Tall, streamlined buildings of black glass that gleam with the reflected glow of the city rise up to fill the sky. Far off in the distance, I can just make out the purple-gray mountains. At fourteen, I'd found it all stunning. I came back after six months for the Victory Tour, and didn't return until I was sixteen. Now, three years and seven trips later, I'm still stunned.

The Capitol is beautiful, in its way. Sleek, shiny, strong. Qualities I can appreciate. Every convenience at your fingertips. People always telling you how wonderful you are, just begging for your attention. At sixteen, I couldn't think of anything better. Going from party to party, having gifts thrown at me. Having women throw themselves at me too, though Mags made sure they didn't get too close. Not that it was necessary. With all the "improvements" the Capitol women (and men) subject themselves to, I felt like I was getting hit on by frightening aliens. And when they opened their mouths to speak, it confirmed they were not from the same planet I inhabited. I might be adventurous, but when it comes to women, I prefer to stay within my own species. Still, I smiled back. They gave me gifts. And I liked the attention.

That year I was invited back twice for official Capitol business. They were opening my Hunger Games' arena and wanted me to look over the key battle sites and verify the accuracy of the reenactments of my kills. And they needed me to be on hand for the ribbon cutting ceremony. Both visits, all my free time was spent with government escorts showing me around the city's cultural sites: theaters, spas, amusement parks, and shopping malls with a museum and library occasionally thrown in. It was about as exciting as it sounds. The highlight of my trip was actually the ribbon-cutting ceremony, where I first exchanged letters with Plutarch Heavensbee.

Going back to the Hunger Games at 17, I went with higher expectations. The trip wasn't official, so I expected lots of parties, and I got them. But with Mags not quite so vigilant in keeping the Capitol women away from me, I didn't get to enjoy myself as much. I did, however, learn that the more I flirted with my adoring fans, the higher the value of the gifts they gave me. So, all in all, it wasn't a total loss. I got asked back another two times. If anything, these visits were even more boring. I wouldn't know it until later, but the only good thing that happened was when Heavensbee handed me a letter addressed to Brian Cresta.

Things didn't improve much. Last year's Hunger Games were the worst. Every time I saw the sparkling electrical lights of the city, I was reminded of how they paled in comparison to the auroras. Surrounded by black skyscrapers that blurred together in an unidentifiable mass of sameness, all I could think of was that teal one-story back in District Four. Even the thing I used to enjoy most, the parties, grated on my last nerve. I wanted to be back at my dining room table, eating dinner with Mags and the Crestas. Instead, I got to block out the obnoxious accents and clinging limbs of the Capitol women. I'd smirk and laugh, but really, my mind was elsewhere-back home, curled up next to Annie on the small couch in my study, listening to the quiet lilt of her voice as she read to me. I should have been glad when it was over. There were no trips scheduled for that year, but I was still separated from what I wanted most. Only this time it was by choice, not geography.

Being back here just enforces how lonely my life really is. I turn away, leaning on my elbows against the ledge, careful not to hit the electrical field.

"So, what did you want to tell me?" Mags says, breaking into my thoughts.

"I'm not sure I can do this anymore."

"What? The messages?" she asks.

The messages? Right now they're the last thing on my mind. Ever since Annie's name was called, all I can think about is her. Nothing new, really. Normally, I'd just ignore it, like I've been doing all year. Emotional entanglements wouldn't benefit anyone right now. But it hasn't been easy. Since I've won, no one has ever denied me anything, and if I actually pursued her, I know she'd eventually give in too. It's difficult saying no to myself, but I don't have much choice. I know my place. I'm the Capitol's property, and they like me single, not tied down to some girl back home. And that isn't even taking into account the messages I've been delivering between District 4 and the Capitol. I still don't know what they're about, but I have a feeling they could land me, and anyone I care about, into a heap of trouble.

But I never meant for this separation to be permanent. Maybe a few years down the road, once the Capitol had lost interest in me and found some new Victors to fawn over, then I'd get the time to be with Annie the way I wanted, the way that was right. Provided she waited for me, of course, but I think she would. Too bad all my caution never really mattered. Staying away from Annie didn't keep her safe, didn't keep her name from getting drawn. In less than a week, she'll most likely be gone, a footnote to the 70th Hunger Games.

"I know you don't approve, but I really want to tell her…I don't want her to die thinking that I don't care for her," I say.

Mags sits down on the chair, sighing. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Why shouldn't I? If Annie dies, at least I'd know what it was like to be with her, even if it was only for a few days."

"And if she lives?"

"Why would that be a problem? That's what I want," I say, sitting down beside Mags, confused.

"But does she want to be with the Capitol's Finnick Odair? Annie doesn't strike me as the groupie type."

I know. That's why I like her so much.

I pull at my hair, as if that will help me with what I have to say. "That's not me, Mags. All those girls…I mean, at first, I let it get to my head, but that's not really what I want. Or who I am." My face warms as I try to choose the correct words, but I don't think there is any way to talk to Mags about my involvement with the Capitol women that isn't embarrassing. Fortunately, I've been a very good boy. "I haven't even done anything with them. Just flirted and accepted their gifts and attention."

"Annie doesn't know that."

"I'd tell her. And it's not like I'd have to keep acting like that. I'd stop, if I were with Annie." Mags raises an eyebrow, but doesn't ask the question I know she's thinking, "Why did you do it in the first place?" My answer-ego-seems stupid now. But at least there's still time to fix everything.

"Mags, I have to tell her. Tonight, after the Opening Ceremony," I say, beginning to stand up and already plotting how to get Annie alone. Mags gnarled hand on my arm stops me.

"I didn't want to tell you this, Finnick, not until afterward, but it seems I can't wait any longer..."

The first thought that pops into my head is that she's dying, and I feel myself instantly deflate. Swallowing the fear that's clawing at my stomach, I pull myself together to ask, "What is it?"

"This is my last year at the Games."

It's better than what I expected, but still a shock. "What? Why?" Mags has been at every Hunger Games I can remember. I can't even picture the Games without her. I don't want to.

"I'm getting old, and my body is not handling these trips and the stress like it used to."

Nonsense. Mags is the strongest woman I know. But as I continue looking at her, I realize it's more a perception of her inner fortitude than actual physical ability. I see the wrinkles in her face, the slight stoop of her back, the thinness of her frame. Were those always there?

"Why didn't you say something earlier? There are plenty of Victors who could have mentored the tributes," I say.

Mags shakes her head, smiling. "It takes a special kind of Victor to do what I do. This day was always going to come, but I kept pushing it off, because I was needed. Now, though, I think there's someone else who could take over for me. Someone I trust to do the job that needs to be done."

"Who?" I ask. Definitely not Caspian. Maybe Thala. I haven't spoken with her much, but she seems reliable. Or that middle-aged man. What's his name? Pierce? Patrick?

Mags takes my hand in hers. "You."

"Me?" It couldn't be me. "I'm already a mentor."

Mags laughs. "Yes, Finnick, you. I always intended for you to take over for me, and I think this is the year it should happen."

Then it clicks. The messages. "I don't even know what you do," I backpedal. It's true. I'm just a glorified delivery boy, and I'd prefer to keep it that way. Delivering the messages adds some excitement to my life, and I am curious about what it all means, but I'm not looking to paint a target on my back for the Capitol. They are already interested in me enough as it is. And if Annie and I are to be together, I can't dig myself further into this hole.

Mags continues, ignoring my obvious unease, "It's easy enough to explain, though this probably isn't the place to do it."

No kidding.

"Why me?" I ask.

"That's a little bit harder to answer," Mags pauses, blinks. If I didn't know it was impossible, I would think she's about to cry. Thankfully, Mags doesn't do that. She takes a deep breath and smooths the material of her pants with her gnarled fingers.

"After the Games, I chose not to have a family. I was only 18, and it didn't seem that important at the time. I had my parents, my sisters, my brother. And as I got older, the idea of a family of my own seemed more and more like a bad idea. I saw the children of other victors reaped, too often for it to be coincidence. And I knew that if I had children of my own, I couldn't live through them competing in the Games. It's hard enough with the tributes," Mags pauses, lifting a shaky hand to her temple, giving me some time to process her revelations. I'd always assumed Mags wanted to stay single. And that the Games weren't rigged. Tonight is full of discoveries.

"I didn't want the Capitol to take away anything more than they already had. It hurt, knowing I'd never have the family I eventually grew to want, but it was better in the long run. Then my dad died. A few years after that, my mom was gone too. I buried my last sibling over ten years ago. I was alone and lonely. The only people who knew what I'd gone through were the other victors, but I couldn't relate to any of them. In fact, I despised most of them. But then this brazen red-headed twerp became my neighbor…

In these last five, almost six years, I've come to care for that twerp. I trust him with my life. What's more important, I think I could trust him with lots of people's lives. He knows what's right and he acts on it. And even though I tease him for mooning over that Cresta girl, I know his head and heart are in the right place. I guess what I'm trying to say is, I've come to think of that twerp like the son I never had and I'm very proud of him."

I can't help smirking. "Sounds like he's a stand-up guy. Do I know him?"

Mags stops to brush the back of her hand against her eyes, then laughs. "Finnick Odair, I'm in an emotional mood. If you don't watch your mouth, I'll brain you."

But she can't beat me up. Not with my arms wrapped around her like a vise. "You're my family too. I love you, Mags."

"If you keep hugging me like this, there won't be any of me left to love," she pushes against me with her arms, and I let go, but I can't stop smiling.

"Sorry," I say, checking to make sure I haven't injured her in any way.

She waves my apology away and clears her throat. "Now as I was saying, I need someone to replace me, and I want it to be you. But that means…"

I can see she doesn't want to say it, so I say it for her. "I have to keep up this charade." The flirting and the pandering to the Capitol's ideas of what they want me to be.

She taps the side of her nose with her right index finger. "Exactly. See, I told Heavensbee you were more than just a pretty face."

"Why?"

She lowers her voice, and says, "We need you to be on the inside, and out of all of us, you have the best chance. The Capitol practically treats you as one of their own, just like they did to me at one time. Believe it or not, I was infinitely better looking than you."

But this isn't the time for jokes right now. At least not for me.

"What about Annie? I mean, one week isn't going to change anything." I could give her this week, and then…well, I don't want to think about what happens afterward.

"Finnick, this isn't just about Annie. I don't deny you'd probably make her last days happy ones, but what about you?"

"What do you mean?"

Mags chews her lip in a rare show of indecision. She thinks I'm not going to like what she has to say. "I like Annie. She's a sweet girl, but she's not my concern. You are. If you lost her…"

"I can handle it." I've lived through the death of my parents and the Hunger Games. How could this be worse?

Mags's hands clench into fists, and I can tell she really doesn't like my situation. That's comforting, but it doesn't change my circumstances. "No one should have to handle this kind of thing."

I shrug, quoting back one of her favorite phrases. "It is what it is." Otherwise, I'd do something about it. But I can't save Annie from the Hunger Games. The only person who can do that is herself.

"Yes, Finnick, but I don't think you can even begin to comprehend what that would mean for you. Either Annie will live, and you will forever be choosing between her and your duty, never being fully able to devote yourself to either one, or she'll die, and you'll be miserable for the rest of your life."

The idea of losing Annie makes me feel ill, but I swallow it down. "I'd get over it."

"Would you? Because I don't think you would."

No, I probably wouldn't. Just like I hadn't gotten over the death of my parents and the Games. Right when I think those losses can't still hurt me, that they no longer have any bearing on my life, I have another nightmare and am reminded how much those events are a part of who I am, and probably always will be.

"I think it's best if you just stay away. If you become involved with…" she motions with her eyes, letting me know we're still talking about her work with Heavensbee, "you'll need to be focused, always on your game. You'll have your what ifs about Annie, but you won't really know what you've lost. And who knows? There could always be another girl. Later on."

I don't want another girl. I want Annie. Even though I don't speak this out loud, it must be written on my face, because she starts lecturing me again.

"Finnick, you are young. You're just figuring out who you are, and so is Annie. Just because you like her now doesn't mean you will five years from now, or even five weeks from now. You had one wonderful month with her over a year ago. She could be a completely different person now. And there are other girls out there too. Normal, sweet, pretty ones, not like those Capitol hussies you attract. Granted, they're not as numerous, but Annie isn't the only fish in the sea."

I stare straight ahead, biting my tongue.

Mags sighs, tapping her foot impatiently on the ground. "You really like this girl, don't you?"

I don't answer.

Mags folds her hands in her lap, then turns to me, her face grave. "I understand why you're upset," she says. I'd be more inclined to believe her if the words weren't spoken through clenched teeth. And if she doesn't like that I want to live my life without reference to the Capitol or anyone else I don't care about, well, that's too bad. I cross my arms, and continue to glare at the ground.

The chill in Mag's voice is sub-arctic. "Stop being an idiot, and look at the bigger picture. You've known Annie for what, a little over a year? And you're ready to sever ties with your Capitol connections for what? A few days with a girl whose shelf life is shorter than a fish sold at the market."

I jump to my feet, outraged. They ate dinner together. Swapped stories. Shared jokes. How she can talk about Annie like this is beyond me. "Mags—"

But my threats make no impression on her. She simply waves me away. "Sit down! Don't you see, Finnick, there are more important things than individual relationships. People in our position don't get to live the lives we want. Not as long as the Capitol is around."

So that's what this is all about. Destroying the Capitol. Well, good luck with that. Even if all the districts pooled all their resources, which is a _big_ if, there is no guarantee they'd be able to bring down the Capitol. In fact, there is an event commemorating their very inability to do just that. Maybe you've heard of it. A little thing they like to call the Hunger Games. But it doesn't matter, because I'm not playing. "I never said I wanted to be in this position."

Mags shakes her head. The wiry tufts of gray hair framing her face barely move. "It doesn't matter. None of us want this position. We're put here, and we don't get to opt out. Even if you try…" her voice trails off, and she wrings her hands.

Guilt. I almost feel its pull on me now. It's hard not to when you, as a Victor, have so much, and you see others with so little. District 4 isn't too bad off, so I'm insulated from the many of the Capitol's atrocities (if you don't count the Hunger Games), but I remember the other places from my Victory Tour. Bodies so wasted they look like their bones were trying to jump out of their skin. Glazed eyes, cracked lips, rashes. I shake my head, trying to dispel the images.

"I want to help, Mags, and I don't want to disappoint you, but you can't just volunteer me for this life. I need to choose it. And right now, I don't want to be further involved with this…thing you have going on. Maybe later."

Her blue eyes narrow into slits, and she looks mad enough to spit. I've never seen her this angry, especially at me. "I can't understand how you could be so selfish as to put the needs of your nation below a fling with some girl, who under normal circumstances, you would have already lost interest in."

I open my mouth, ready to protest the injustice of her claims, but nothing comes out. Her words shake me, introduce a seed of doubt. What if Mags is right about my feelings for Annie? I'm young. I've seen people fall in and out of love all the time, usually with me. And the crazy thing is, they really think they love me. Are my feelings for Annie really as strong as I think they are? Or am I just deluded?

I drop my head in my hands, unsure of everything now. I can't commit to one course of action. We're at a stalemate, but I feel like I've lost. Maybe not the argument, but the respect and trust she'd shown me just a few minutes ago when she called me her son.

"Bet you wish you hadn't selected me for your replacement now," I say, pretending I'm not bothered by my inability to please her. The words feel like sludge coming up my throat, and my voice nearly cracks from the effort it takes to speak them.

"I'm sorry, Finnick. I really am," she quietly says, her voice soft and full of pity. "In a just world, we wouldn't even be having this discussion." She places her hand on my shoulder, but I shrug it off as I stand to my feet.

"Promise me you'll think about it," she says.

"I need to get ready for the Opening Ceremony. Wouldn't want to keep my fans waiting."

* * *

The sun shines so brightly in my eyes, I have some trouble seeing. But the movement in my net is unmistakable. I've caught something. Trident firmly gripped in my hand, I race towards my captive, knowing that once this last tribute is dead, I'll have won the games.

I'll be free to go home.

Without pausing, I stab my trident through the tribute's back. Her body spasms and then lies still, but I don't try to remove my weapon until the cannon blast has gone off, signifying that she's dead.

Somewhere overhead I hear a loud boom, and then voice trills out, "Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victor of the Sixty-fifth Hunger Games, Finnick Odair! I give you the tribute of District Four."

Stooping beside my last kill, I brace my hand against her back to retrieve my weapon. She has so much hair, and I watch as it begins wrapping itself around my arm. I shake my head at the impossible sight. Must be the dehydration. Yanking on my trident, I dislodge it from my enemy's body with such force, it turns her over. The vacant green eyes of my last victim stare up at me, her mouth open in what would have been an agonized scream if she could still breathe. I drop my trident, horrified. _She's_ not supposed to be here. "Annie? Annie!" I begin to shake her, yelling her name till my voice is hoarse, but no one can hear me over the deafening roars of my adoring public, which are blasting over the speakers into the arena.

"Annie!"

I jolt up in bed, sweaty and tangled in my sheets. My chest aches and I feel hollow, even though I know Annie is just down the hall, sleeping peacefully. Dropping my head into my hands, I take a few shaky breaths, trying to block out the nightmare I just had and the complete sense of loss that's threatening to overwhelm me. In the quiet, I realize I'm not the only one struggling to breathe.

My head shoots up, and I see her, standing in the doorway of my moonlit room, looking like a ghost.

"Annie?"

She hesitates before shutting the door behind her. Walking slowly over to my bed, she hovers by my side, toes disappearing in the plush carpet. "Are you OK?" she asks.

No. I'm scared and shaken, and to make matters worse, the girl I've decided to avoid, the girl I just killed in my dreams, the girl I desperately want to be with, finds me trembling like a leaf. I am the exact opposite of OK.

"I'm good. Just a bad dream," I say, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

I can see she wants to ask what my dream was about, but she doesn't. Just hovers there indecisively. I take the time to look at her, something I haven't been able to do for a while. Things have gone non-stop since the Opening Ceremony. Mags and I have been socializing with potential sponsors, only coming back at dinner, which leaves me with little time to spend with either of the tributes. With Annie this close to me, I can pick out the faint scent of oranges. It's not a delicacy we have back in District Four. She must have found all the different shampoos and oils in the showers.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, a little more harshly than I should.

"I couldn't sleep and was walking around when I heard you say my name."

In the darkness she looks too much like a ghost. I switch on the lights, and she ducks her head, hiding behind her hair. I pretend she didn't say anything about my nightmares. "Do you want me to ring an attendant? The Capitol makes these sleeping pills…"

She stands there for a few seconds, chewing on her lower lip, then shakes her head. "No, thank you. I should go...I'll see you tomorrow for the interview preparations. I'm sorry I woke you. Goodnight, Finnick."

As she's turning to walk away, I can see how bright her eyes are. More so than usual. I think she's about to cry.

"Wait. Annie, come back."

She stops, but she isn't coming closer, so I get out of bed and pull her back. We sit on the edge of the mattress, and she stares at the door as I stare at her. This is probably not good. I haven't committed to Mags's cause, but I've decided not to pursue anything with Annie. Still, that doesn't mean I have to be a jerk, either. I'm her mentor after all. Pep talks are part of the job description.

"Looks like you have something on your mind. Anything I can help with?"

Her head turns sharply, searches my eyes for something, and when she doesn't find whatever it is, she relaxes just a little. Her gaze drops to my chest, then straight back to my face. I should probably put a shirt on.

"No, I have nothing on my mind," she blurts out.

I try to be sensitive, but her comment is so absurd I laugh. She stiffens beside me. Forcing myself not to smile, I say, "And here I thought your mind was always going a mile a minute."

"What?" she says as her gaze shifts over my face, refusing to settle for even a second.

Even by Annie's standards, her behavior is odd, but given the stress she's under, her distractedness is justifiable. Brushing some wrinkles out of the sheets, I patiently repeat myself, "I was just saying, I always thought—"

I don't get much farther, because the next thing I know one of Annie's hands is behind my neck, and her mouth is pressed to mine. Unexpected, but certainly not unwelcome. Before I can react, she pulls back and wipes her palms on her thighs. She's breathing fast, like we've done a lot more than share a second-long closed-mouth kiss. "I know that was stupid, but I had to do that just once—"

I put my index finger to her lips, which instantly shuts her up. Her eyes cross as she tries to look at my finger, but then they are back on my face. "You don't need to explain," I say.

I still haven't moved by finger, but she doesn't get the message. "Yes, I think—"

I shake my head.

"Finnick, please, just let me finish."

"You can finish explaining later." Though I don't think it's necessary. Looking back now, I should have seen the signs. Her roaming the corridors, the extreme fidgeting, her eyes flickering to my mouth. She'd been thinking about kissing me from the instant she came into my room. Probably even before that.

It's all clicked into place, along with the knowledge that I am not going to stay away from this girl, no matter the consequences.

Before Annie can start protesting again, I lean over, resting my hand on the mattress between us. The action causes Annie to jolt, but she doesn't move back. I lift my hand to her hair, watch as I twist a curl around a finger, then glance back at her. Her eyes have drifted close, and I shift nearer to her.

"Am I your first kiss?" I say against the corner of her mouth.

She nods mutely. Of all the times to stop talking! But now that I want her to open her mouth, she keeps her lips firmly pressed together.

"Thank you," I say against the other side of her mouth. She doesn't move.

I press my lips to hers, another brief kiss. "There's no need to be shy now."

"Yes, there is," she mumbles, turning her head to the side, which just gives me better access to her throat. She coughs. "I didn't ask, and I didn't think this through properly, and I…I didn't really know what I was doing."

"That's alright, because I do," and before she can say another word, I press my mouth to hers. Her lips move against mine as she tries to speak, but I'm persistent and after a few seconds she gives up.

Since that first night we had dinner, I've pictured this moment so many times. Her lips are soft, her mouth sweet. Just like I expected. But there are some things I couldn't have anticipated, like the tiny sighs she makes. Or the way her hands tickle my skin, because she's too shy to let them rest anywhere for too long. Best of all is how it feels when she smiles against my mouth.

With my eyes closed, I find her hands, twining our fingers together as I pull her closer to me. She's practically in my lap when I wrap her arms behind my neck, freeing my hands so I can bury them in her hair. Another thing I've wanted to do since last year. There's a whole list, and since she seems to like what I've done so far, I start formulating what to do next.

Before I can accomplish anything, she pushes me back, sending my stomach somewhere to the vicinity of my feet. Did I do something wrong?

"Finnick," she gasps against my chest, her forehead resting on my collarbone.

I'm too afraid to move, but she hasn't slapped me. That has to be good. Swallowing my worry, I manage a raspy "Yes?"

"I need to breathe."

"That's it?"

"Yes…What did you think I was going to say?"

So I didn't do anything wrong. My sigh of relief ruffles her hair. All she needs is oxygen. I can give her that.

"Doesn't matter," I murmur, kissing her neck instead. I hear and feel her giggle, before she pushes me away again. Her eyes meet mine, their deep green shining jewel bright. "Really, what did you think I was going to say?"

The right side of my face squinches up, a reflex to the sheepishness that's suddenly come over me. "Er, nothing, I just…maybe I did something wrong, offended you…or something." I grimace. That was eloquent.

"No, I'm not offended at all. Actually, I really liked—" she starts gushing, then clamps her mouth shut. "It was nice," she admits quietly.

Emboldened, I take her hand in mine and hold on tightly when she tries to pull it away. "Just nice?" I ask.

"You can't really expect me to tell you how much I enjoy kissing you."

"What if I told you that I've been wanting to kiss you since I saw you eating that cheesecake? What would you say then?"

She scoffs, and I can visualize her rolling her eyes at me. "I would say you're lying."

"Alright, maybe it wasn't until I walked you home. But it was definitely that same day."

"Finnick, you don't have to do this."

Do what? "Kiss you? Believe me, I'm fine with this."

She shakes her head, pushing me away again. "No, I mean, you don't have to say these things. I know what I was getting into when I came here."

I highly doubt that, but whatever. I'll play along. "And what's that?"

Her eyes widen in disbelief, as if she expects me to be able to read her mind. She throws her hands up in exasperation, then starts wringing them. "You know. You're Finnick Odair."

"Yeah. So?"

"I see you on television flirting with every Capitol female that breathes. And I know that in comparison to them, I'm just a silly little girl from back home. But I figured you wouldn't care, that this wouldn't mean anything to you." She shrugs, one shoulder rising higher than the other. "I mean, I know it doesn't mean anything to you, so please stop pretending like it does. You don't need to. Like I said, I knew what I was getting in to."

This flies in the face of everything she told me that first day we met, when she condemned me for breaking people's hearts right before she told me to leave her alone. I thought I'd shown her I wasn't like that, but it's clear she's changed her mind. But if she thinks this about me, it begs the question: "Then why did you come here?"

"I thought it was obvious," she mumbles as she starts choking my bedsheets with her fists.

Just to be clear, I ask. "You wanted to kiss me?"

"I wanted someone to kiss, yes."

But that's different from what I asked, and the turn of phrase bothers me.

"I see. And why did you pick me?"

"I don't know. I figured you would understand why I would want this, since you were a contestant in the Games too. And that, um, maybe you would be good at it, since you've already kissed so many Capitol girls."

"What?" I say, incapable of hiding my offense any longer.

"Well, it's true, isn't it?" but she doesn't sound quite so sure anymore, and her cheeks have turned a deeper shade of pink.

I scoot away from her, hurt by her poor opinion of me. "I haven't kissed _that_ many girls, Capitol or otherwise."

"I—I'm sorry," she stammers, blinking in confusion. "I didn't know."

"You make it sound like I'll kiss just anyone," I say, jumping up from the bed. The more I think about what she's insinuating, the angrier I get. First Mags, then her. But what can I expect, really? I've brought this on myself by acting like such an ass. And now I'm paying for it.

I stop pacing and face Annie, my fists clenched at my sides. Her shoulders hunch forward as she folds in on herself, and she won't look at me. "I'm sorry," she whispers and starts to stand up. 'I should go."

Before she can walk away, I catch her arm. "Was that your only requirement? That the guy wouldn't be offended when you kissed him without his permission? Geez, Annie. You sure set your standards high."

She rips her arm away from me and scowls. "Goodnight, Finnick."

"Why didn't you ask Cliff?" The instant I say his name a wave of jealousy rolls over me, feeding into my anger. "I'm sure he hasn't kissed every woman in Panem," I growl.

"But I don't like Cliff," Annie snaps, her voice just under a shout. Then she shuts her eyes and groans. It takes me a second to figure out why she's reacting this way, but when I do I grab her upper arms, nearly shaking her. "You like me?"

She's still flinching, her eyes screwed tightly shut, but she gives a slight nod of her head. The smile on my face appears instantaneously. And it's big. And ear to ear grin.

When she opens her eyes, they're shiny with unshed tears. "There's no need to tease me, Finnick. Yes, I like you. I wanted it to be you. And now that I've humiliated myself _again_, I think I'd like to go to bed. Please let go."

I don't. "I shouldn't have questioned myself. I knew you liked me."

"How very nice for you," she says, wiping at her eyes. And then that most terrible thing happens. Her face crumbles, and she starts sobbing. She spins away from me, and I'm so surprised all I can do is stare stupidly at her back, which is shaking from her attempts to stifle her tears.

My stupor only lasts for a moment. "Oh, Annie," I say, hauling her into my arms from behind. "Don't cry."

She hiccups against my chest and shakes her head vigorously. Dropping a kiss to the top of her head, I brush aside her hair and bring my mouth close to her ear. "Shhh. Don't cry. I like you too." My words only make her cry harder, so I can't be sure if she's actually listening to me. I decide to wait until she's calmed back down before I reveal any more of my feelings to her.

I lead her back to my bed, and we both sit down, staring at the wall. She is the first to speak. "I'm sorry for crying like a baby."

"Don't worry about it."

"Easy for you to say." She inhales deeply, then expels it out loudly. "Do you have any tissue?"

I reach over to my nightstand and grab a box. "Thanks," she says, taking it then disappearing into my bathroom, closing the door behind her.

I hear the sink turn on and, after a minute or so, off. Then there is a thump against the bathroom door. As I wait for her to emerge, I start pacing the floor, trying to figure out the best way to handle this situation. It doesn't take long, but now I need her to come out.

I give her a few more minutes before knocking on the door. "Annie?"

"Yes," she says. By the sound of her voice, I would say she's against the door, on the floor. Well, that would explain the thump.

"Are you going to come out any time soon? I'd like to speak with you."

"I can hear you fine from here," she says.

I try for the handle, and it's unlocked. Hmm. I assume that means she doesn't really want to be alone. Slowly easing the door open, I kneel beside her, looking at her profile. There's a few beads of water clinging to her hair. She must have rinsed her face off, but her eyes are still red.

"I think we should talk," I say. "But not on the bathroom floor."

"You're probably right," she says, and with what looks like a great effort, she pushes herself off the cold tile.

She trudges back to the bed again, but I make a slight detour to my nightstand and pull out two objects. Walking towards where she's seated, I hide them behind my back. I stop in front of her, waiting for her to look up so I can show off what I have, but she doesn't. Her eyes are locked on my torso, unseeing and dull.

"It's actually a good thing you came tonight," I say, revealing the two wrapped gifts from behind my back. "I've been meaning to give you something."

She glances up at me, startled. "Why would you get me something?"

What kind of question is that? I shrug. "Why wouldn't I?"

"You didn't have to do that," she says softly, taking the larger of the two gifts I hold out to her.

"Of course I did. After all, today's your birthday, isn't it?"

"I'm surprised you remembered." She opens it slowly, careful not to rip the wrapping paper. I inch closer, anxious to see her reaction to the gift.

"Do you like it?" I ask.

"I love it," she says, holding her own copy of that mermaid book she would always read at my house to her chest as she beams at me. "Thank you." She's paging through the book, looking over the pictures when she quietly adds, "And thank you for getting Agrippina to change my costume."

"It's Mags you should be thanking, not me," I say, trying to play it off.

"No, it's you," she says firmly, closing the book. "Agrippina wouldn't have listened if it hadn't been for you."

"Well, I know how much you've always wanted to be a mermaid."

Before she can say anything else, I hold out the second, smaller gift. When she opens it, she looks up at me again, her eyes wide as saucers. "Finnick, this must have cost a fortune."

I shrug, trying to hide my nervousness. "I have the money. Do you like it?"

"It's beautiful." She sets the box, which contains a pair of emerald earrings and a matching necklace, on her knee, refusing to touch the jewelry. Not the reaction I was hoping for.

"But?" I prompt.

"Why did you get me this?"

"They reminded me of you," I say, taking the box from her and removing the necklace. "The stone is the same color as your eyes."

Kneeling down before her, I gather her hair and pull it over one of her shoulders, baring her neck. There are no strays, which I've determined by thoroughly brushing my fingers against her skin. She breathes in sharply, but hasn't moved away. So far, so good.

Slipping the chain around her neck, I secure the clasp in the front before pulling the necklace around into the proper position. The charm rests just below the hollow of her throat. I lean in, bringing my face close to hers. "Happy Birthday, Annie."

She tries to pull back, but my fingers are wrapped around the green heart and gold chain. This close I can see how her throat bobs up and down as she swallows.

"What are you doing, Finnick?" she asks, blushing furiously.

"Something I should have done last year. Which is when I actually bought these things for you."

She blinks. "Last year?"

"Yes. As I was trying to tell you earlier, I've wanted to be with you almost since the day I met you. I was going to give these to you when I got back from the Games."

"Oh…Why didn't you?"

I don't have a good answer for that. Any answer I should give is linked up with Mags's messages, which I can't tell her about. So I offer the best answer I can give. "It wasn't because I didn't like you."

"I wish you'd said something earlier," she huffs, extracting the necklace from my hands so she can play with charm herself. "Like before I made a fool out of myself and started crying."

"And I wish you'd said that the real reason you came in here was to kiss me." I ruffle her hair. "We don't always get what we want."

"But I did tell you that!" she says, ducking out from under my hand.

"Only after you first told me I was easy. And you wouldn't have admitted the truth if I hadn't wrung it out of you."

"No girl wants to admit her feelings first," she says, indignantly.

"That didn't stop you from kissing me first," I point out, amused and receiving a push to the shoulder for my troubles.

"Yeah, well, thanks to the Games, I've had to make some compromises."

Oh. Having this coming from the girl who lectured me about romance within the first few minutes of our acquaintance is slightly depressing. Annie deserves more than that, and as much as it's in my power, she won't ever have to compromise again. I just wish I'd known sooner, paid better attention to what was going on with her. I would have made this better. It would have been me coming to her and telling her my feelings. And there wouldn't have been any crying. But I can't change that now. I can only make what time we have left together as perfect as it can possibly be.

I sit down beside her and rest my hand against her face. "Annie, I would like to kiss you again. Will you let me?"

Her stunned look melts into a look of sheer happiness, and she nods and closes her eyes. I watch the way her dark lashes flutter against her cheeks, like butterflies poised to fly away. I press my lips to her forehead, her brow, then her nose. She tries to meet my mouth, but I pull back. I still have some more questions.

"I would like you to be my girlfriend. Will you allow that?"

"Yes," she says through a smile. Her eyes, which are still shut, crinkle at the corners.

"And I want you to stop rolling your eyes or disbelieving me when I compliment you or say I like you. Can you do that?"

"Finnick, will you please just kiss me?" she groans.

"Annie…"

"Yes, yes, I'll believe you."

"Good," I say, lowering my voice. "Because I think you're gorgeous." And then I start saying all sorts of sappy things about her hair and her eyes and her lips, her nose and her freckles, things I would never say to the Capitol girls. It's fun, being the one giving the compliments instead of receiving them. And it's even more fun watching her squirm and try not to contradict me as I barrage her with praise.

"Do you believe me?" I finally ask.

She nods her head, lips firmly pressed together.

"Good. And do you promise me that you will never, ever, ever date Cliff Malley?"

She opens her eyes, then laughs. "Are you kidding me?"

"Just answer the question."

"The boy is like a little brother to me. I don't—"

That's all I need to know. Too impatient to ask for permission again, I take her face in my hands and start kissing her. Pretty soon, I'm struggling to breathe, but Annie seems to be fine. I guess no one explained to her that guys and girls are different. She's burning slowly, while I feel like I'm about to combust into a ball of flames. I need to pull back. I'm panting like I just ran a race. Not the image I want to project, especially when she looks so calm and serene. But if she notices my inability to breathe, it doesn't bother her. She reaches out for me, first touching my neck, then chin, then mouth. Things I taught her. Before we start this all over again, I take her hand in mine, tracing the lines on her palm. "I think we should stop…before we can't."

Her mouth forms a small O, and she sits up very straight. "Yes, you're probably right."

I fall back on to the bed. Her back is to me, and I occupy myself with drawing patterns on her skin as I try to calm down. "Annie?"

She turns around, and I rest my hand on her knee. "Stay here tonight?" I ask. I can tell she wants to say no, but I'm selfish and don't want her to leave. "I'll wake you up before the sun rises."

"But what will Mags think if she finds me here? If she tells my mom…"

"Mags won't even know you've been here. I promise."

I pat the space beside me and wait for her answer. Slowly, she scoots forward and lies down next to me, careful not to touch any part of me. It's cute, but not exactly what I had in mind. My arm wraps around her, pulling her into my side. At first, she is stiff beside me, but as the minutes pass and all I do is hold her hand against my chest, she begins to melt, reforming against the contours of my body. A perfect fit, like I knew she would be.

When she yawns a few seconds later, I reach over to turn off the lights. My eyes take a moment to adjust to the sudden darkness, but I find her face and kiss her briefly. "Goodnight, Annie."

"Goodnight, Finnick," she says through another yawn.

As I settle back down in the sheets, she snuggles into my side, all the previous awkwardness forgotten. I fold my arms around her and stare up at the ceiling, trying not to move but I'm unsettled. Because now that I have her in my arms, I don't think I can let her go. Not for the rebellion. Not for Mags. And certainly not for the Games, which are less than two days away.

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**To Be Continued**


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer:

Mockingjay. Real or not real?

My answer: not real. And my story will reflect that. I don't want to go into what I will and will not incorporate from Mockingjay as I don't want to spoil anyone who has not read the books. But when I started this story, I had a certain direction I wanted to take, and SC's story conflicts with that. Having read MJ, I don't feel it necessary to follow her vision. I'm substituting my own. I hope you enjoy this alternate reality as much as I do.

Originally, I attempted to alternate POV with every chapter, but I found this easier to write from Finnick's POV. So I'm writing from whoever's POV I feel like it. =D

I apologize if there are typos. I'll go back and fix them, but right now, if I don't post, this will never go up.

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Anonymous Review Replies:

Annalee - I did not enjoy MJ! Well, I liked maybe the first two-thirds. The rest was butt. I promise a much happier ending than in the book. Thanks for reviewing!

Melliody - Yay! I'm glad you like Annie making that move. She was scared to death, but it all worked out in the end. =D Stay tuned to chapter 6 to see how F handles the Games and how Annie goes mad.

ohhey- thanks! I'm going to keep on keeping on. Hopefully you'll like it!

AWhiteBlankPage - I'm glad you are enjoying this story. I have lots of thoughts about Mockingjay. If you want my thoughts, feel free to PM. I have a whole long list of them, most of them negative. I don't want to spoil anyone so, I'm not going to put it here, but suffice it to say, my story is going to be seriously AU.

Lu - I'm glad you like the progression of F/A's relationship. Things are going to start to get really interesting for them soon. =D

Hajakuru Luver93 - thanks for the review. =D

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**Mad With Hunger**

**Chapter Five**

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I wake before the dawn, a habit I've had since living on the boats that's only been reinforced by the nightmares I've had since my Games. Only this time, there was no nightmare. When I finally fell asleep, I was out like a rock. Which is surprising, considering the odd angles my body has managed to contort itself into.

Looking down, I find Annie's head resting on my shoulder. The gray of early morning fills the room, giving her skin a silvery, otherworldly tint. Her dark brown hair lies across her pillow and my arm, and one of her legs is thrown haphazardly over me, resting in between my knees, tangled up like so much fishing line. Every breath she takes presses her closer to me, and my arm tightens around her of its own accord.

The hand that isn't tucked under her body rests on my chest, moving slightly every now and again in response to something she's dreaming about. Hopefully me. I throw my head back against the pillow and groan. It would all be so very innocent, if only I were asleep. The cool of the morning and air conditioned room have no effect; there's only a drowsy, suffusing warmth where our bodies are connected, which continues to make its way over me with each passing second. I should move away.

"Annie," I whisper. I try again, a little louder. Nothing.

Careful not to wake her, I attempt to unpin my arm, which is starting to go numb. She whimpers slightly, but does little else as I slowly extract myself out from under her. Blood rushes back into my dead limb, bringing with it pleasantly painful sensations. As I flex my fingers and wait for the tingling to stop, I go back to my newly discovered favorite pastime: looking at her. It quickly morphs into my other newly discovered favorite pastime: touching her. Searching my conscience, I find no guilt. After all, I did move away. I never said it would be very far.

Last night, I'd promised to wake her before the sun rose, so I use that as my excuse for what I do next. My finger sweeps along her collar bone, up the line of her neck, and just below her ear, memorizing the feel of her skin. The left corner of her mouth twitches, and she shifts away from me, but not out of arm's reach. Her mouth twitches again, and my fingers find a new playground. Her breath comes in unworried sighs, soft and warm as her lips.

Would it be wrong to kiss her while she sleeps?

Just as I'm about to find out, she turns her face towards me and her lashes slowly flutter open, struggling against sleep. Making sure my smile is the first thing to greet her, I lean down, waiting for her to wake up. The instant she sees me, her eyes widen and for a few moments, she just stares up at me. Her mouth parts to say something, but then she snaps it shut and yanks the sheet up over her nose.

It's disappointing. Like reeling in your line only to find that your great catch is nothing more than a muddy boot. Her initial shyness is understandable. I guess. I just thought we were past that. But her hesitation introduces new worries, because what if I'm wrong and it's not shyness, but regret.

Not really knowing what to do, I stretch on the bed, raising my arms above my head and arching my back to relieve the stiffness I have there courtesy of Annie. Her eyes sweep over me, prickling my skin. I'm not sure, but I think I hear her swallow. Good. It's shyness then. That I can deal with.

"Morning, Annie."

"Hi," she squeaks back, her voice muffled by the black satin sheets of the Capitol. Huh. Do all the rooms have black sheets, or am I a special case? Doesn't matter.

My smile goes wider, and I reach for the sheet and tug. It doesn't budge. Probably because of the white-knuckled death grip she currently has on the poor blanket. It's not going anywhere. At least not with these tactics.

"Are you insane? I haven't brushed my teeth," she yelps.

Is that all? That's nothing.

"Shhhh," I whisper, putting my finger to my lips. The whole point of waking her up early is so that no one would know she was here. While the Capitol walls aren't paper thin, they're hardly sound proof either. And they're most likely bugged, but I try not to think of that. I have other pressing concerns. "And what does it matter? Neither have I."

As far as flirtations go, admitting you have morning breath to score a kiss is a new low. Fortunately, it doesn't seem to gross her out. But I'm not taking any chances. I incline my head and kiss her through the sheet. Her fingers loosen on the fabric, and just as I start to pry the security blanket away, she rolls over to her side, away from me. "You could have just asked me to brush my teeth," she gasps, trying to stifle her laughter.

"No time. It's almost sunrise. You should be going," I stand up from the bed and walk toward the door. The muffled sound of my feet padding through the lush Capitol carpet is quieter than it should be. I turn back and find Annie still in bed. She's lowered the sheet and is staring up at me, a small smile on her mouth.

"What?" I ask, walking back towards her.

Annie holds out both her hands, and I take them in mine, pulling her into my arms. Rather than answering me, she holds me in a hug so tight my ribs are in danger of cracking. Convincing myself that we have a few more minutes before she really needs to go, I rest my cheek on the top of her head as she relaxes into me.

"Thank you," she says at last, her hoarse voice breaking the silence.

"What for?"

The air is so heavy, I'm tempted to make a joke but something tells me that wouldn't go over well. I might be stronger, but Annie is capable of inflicting some damage of her own, as reports from the training center testify and as I've seen for myself back home at the Career Center. Plus, there's the specter of Cliff hanging over my head. Not that Annie really could go to him after me, but why risk it?

Her fingers press into the hair at the nape of my neck, breaking me from another of my internal rants against District Four's other tribute. I look down and our eyes meet. There's sorrow there. Possibly regret, which I don't understand. She seemed happy enough just a second ago.

"Just…for everything." Before I can ask what 'everything' means, she raises to her tiptoes and presses her lips to my cheek. "I'll see you later," she says before leaving the room.

Three hours later, I head for breakfast. By the time I make it to the dining room, I've decided that tonight we'll stay in her room instead. And I'll bring my toothbrush.

The door to the dining room parts open with a hydraulic hiss, and Mags, who's already at the table, glances up. She's by herself, surrounded by mountains of breakfast foods. Enough to feed a small fishing crew, but since there'll only be six of us, most of it will go to waste.

"Don't you look chipper this morning," she says as she spears some runny, cheese-smothered eggs. I run my fingers across my face. Sure enough, there's a ridiculously large smile there. Normally, I wouldn't care, but I don't want to tell her about Annie. Mags might think she understands our situation, but she doesn't, and I don't want to hear her nagging me about something that makes me happy.

I raise an eyebrow, trying to pretend that nothing incredibly fantastic has happened to me in the past 24 hours. "I'm always happy."

Mags snorts. "Right. You've been wandering around the past couple of days like someone drowned your pet fish. And now…"

I heap a pile of pancakes, eggs, toast, and sausage onto my plate, unable to look Mags in the eyes while I lie to her. "I don't know what you're talking about," I say around a mouthful of strawberries and syrup. Maybe if I stuff my face, she'll see that now isn't the time to talk.

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about, Finnick. I'd rather see you smiling than gloomy. It suits you much better. But it begs the question, what's put you in such a good mood?" Her eyes are on me, sharp and penetrating as hooks. I try not to squirm, not give her any inkling about Annie and me, but it's hard not to feel like I'm a fish dangling from her line, waiting for her to pull me in.

The dining room doors part again, and my neck snaps to the entrance. False alarm. It's only Cliff, but at least for now I'm off the hook. There are six chairs left at the table, three on my right and three on Mags's left. Cliff sits next to Mags. No surprise there. They like one another, and while I don't hate him, we haven't exactly bonded. Still, I tell myself he can't be too bad. He just saved me from Mags's curiosity and left the chair next to me open.

So when Annie walks in and takes the seat next to Cliff, I'm a bit disappointed. Angry actually. Agrippina enters a few minutes later with her fellow design partner, Germania, and sits beside me. I pretend they're the only women in the room.

Scooting my chair nearer to the designers, I ask, "So what can we expect the kids to wear for the interviews tonight?"

Cliff's lip curls at the veiled insult, temporarily warming my insides. Annie's disapproving look is harder to stomach, but I ignore it. Just like she ignored me.

Germania opens her mouth to answer, but Agrippina leans in, blocking my view of Cliff's designer. Instantly I'm enveloped in a cloud of sickeningly sweet perfume, and I have to fight the urge to cough. "You'll just have to wait and see. I'll give you a hint, though. Blue." She drawls out the last word, pursing her lips like she wants a kiss. I glance up to see what Annie thinks of all this, but she looks away at her plate the instant she catches me watching her.

As we continue eating in relative silence, my anger starts to fade. Of course she couldn't sit next to me. Though it was never discussed, I think we both know that our relationship must remain a secret. But after flirting with Agrippina, I'm too ashamed to speak to Annie. Instead, I spend the rest of breakfast picturing what she'll be wearing. Hopefully it's better than the silver mesh monstrosity Agrippina has provided me with for the interviews. You would think that after winning fiveyears ago, I could dress in less attention-getting clothes. You know, more like a normal person. Well, what passes for normal in the Capitol.

By the time I've met with Annie and Cliff about their strategies for their interviews with Caesar Flickerman, I'm still thinking about the outfit. Agrippina's hint, blue, is pretty broad, so I don't know what to expect.

Certainly not what Annie's wearing when she steps into the living room. My throat goes dry at a sight that manages to be familiar and new at the same time. Annie's dressed like the ocean. Or its clothing equivalent. The light blue material around her neck slowly fades into teal, then deep blues and greens that swirl about her bare feet, which are speckled with small blue, green, and purple gems. Annie's dark hair has been curled, with white shells and starfish pinning it back in certain places to keep it off her face.

Beautiful.

I don't even realize I've said the word out loud until I hear Mags sigh and Cliff snarl under their breaths. At least Agrippina thinks I was talking about the dress, and she's all simpers and smiles at my pronouncement. Annie's too busy disinterestedly picking at something on her outfit to acknowledge my compliment. Probably still upset with me for my earlier antics with Agrippina. Or if I'm lucky, she's just smarter than me and knows how to control herself.

"I need to change," I say, fleeing the room before I do another stupid thing and reveal to everyone that something's going on between us. Running into my quarters, I strip down to my underwear and wander into the bathroom. Gripping the counter, I peer into the mirror, staring back at my reflection. The ridiculous smile is still there. I splash water on my face. Lightly smack my cheeks. Rub my eyes. But it doesn't go away. Pulling on my silver suit, I give myself one last look. I look stupid. It's times like these I wish I could be back in Four, wearing waders, a sweater, and a sturdy pair of boots.

Our escort has gone on ahead, leaving the two designers, Mags, Cliff, and Annie waiting for me by the entrance to the elevator, which will take them downstairs to the stage that has been erected outside the training center. The usual site for the interviews with Caesar Flickerman. They're all engaged in conversation as I quietly approach them. Annie's directly facing the doors, giving me my first glimpse of her back. Half of it's covered by her hair, which falls in waves to the middle of her spine. But the back of the dress is cut so ridiculously low, there's about a foot of skin still visible. I may not like Agrippina, but the level of detail she puts into her outfits (when one actually exists) is amazing. Green, blue, purple. Green, blue, purple. My middle three fingers tap against my leg as my eyes run over the stones that are gleaming along Annie's spine. Because of her hair I can't know for sure, but I think they start at her neck, and alternate green, blue, purple all the way down, ending between the two indentations of her lower back. Maybe even lower. I can't tell because the dress ends right at the top of her—

"Nice outfit," Cliff says, smugly, causing the whole group to turn around. That little piece of seascum. I'm quick, but not fast enough. They know what's caught my attention. I remind myself that at least three of these people already expect this kind of behavior from me. Mags, of course, is frowning. And Annie…well, I don't know what she's thinking. Hopefully, that she still wants to be with me.

Deciding to chance it, I insert myself between Cliff and Annie who are standing next to each other. I throw my arms around their shoulders and give Cliff a healthy smack on the back. "Thanks. You don't look so bad yourself." Truth is, he looks just as ridiculous as me. He got the same treatment as Annie, but instead of a dress and jewels, he has a skintight body suit. It's nowhere near as good looking as her outfit. Not that I really care, but the guys always seem to get the short end of the fashion stick.

As expected, Cliff shrugs my arm off. Annie just stands there, and I think, maybe, I'm forgiven for my earlier stupidity at breakfast. And the ogling at the elevator. I'm sure I'll find out later tonight.

Before I can worry anymore about it, the elevator doors open with a ding. Since Mags is already upset with me, I give up on pleasing her. Recklessly, I trail my arm down Annie's back, guiding her through the door to the back of the elevator. With both Annie and I leaning against the wall, shoulder to shoulder, no one can see the movement of my hand. Her spine stiffens under my touch as I count the jewels. I was right. They start at her neck. Where they terminate, though, will have to remain a mystery. She might be too nice to reject my advances publicly, but even I know there are limits to her kindness.

"You look great," I say, ignoring whatever glares I'm getting from Mags, Cliff, and Agrippina. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Cliff's designer, Germania, smirking. I think she cares for Annie's designer about as much as I do. Not that I blame her. Rumor has it Agrippina is very controlling. Which would explain why she's dictated both Cliff and Annie's outfits, when really she's only responsible for Annie's. Also, it's verified fact that Agrippina is an annoying harpy.

"Thank you," Annie says to her green-painted toes, which wiggle as if they're in the sand. The jewels glued to the tops of her feet almost make me miss the hint of a smile on her face, visible in profile. "You look…interesting."

"Only interesting?"

She looks up, finds my face inches from hers. The tiny smile morphs into a large grin. "Distracting too. I guess."

"Hmmm. I'm not sure what you mean by that, but I'm choosing to believe it's a compliment."

She shrugs. "Believe whatever you like."

"Of course it's a compliment," Agrippina butts in, reminding me that there are other people in the elevator. "I wouldn't be surprised if the crowd only paid attention to you tonight."

"That would be unfortunate, considering our job is to highlight the current tributes, not past victors," Germania chimes in, leaving a response from me unnecessary. Agrippina doesn't like this. Her jaw tenses, and her pink skin burns two shades darker. She looks like a sunburned raspberry.

The jewels start rubbing against the palm of my hand, and I realize Annie is shaking beside me, suppressing a giggle at Agrippina's outrage.

The elevator opens to the main floor, and Cliff, who is standing to my other side, pushes off against the back wall, jostling me as he exits the elevator first with Agrippina hot on his heels. Whatever. Can't please them all. I wait for Mags and Germania to disembark before I take Annie's hand in mine.

"Good luck," I say, giving her fingers a brief squeeze before letting go. I follow her out the doors to the stage, and up the stairs. An attendant greets Annie, ushering her to her assigned seat, while another attendant does the same for me.

Sitting down at the chairs cordoned off for the mentors, I watch Annie take her place next to Cliff and the other tributes. All there's left to do now is wait and hope she does well. Mags and I decided that Annie's angle is one of charm and competence. She's thoughtful and sweet, which normally isn't too exciting, but combined with her looks (especially the way she looks tonight) and the fact that she's from District Four, I can't imagine any person who wouldn't want to help her. If it weren't illegal for me to sponsor her, I'd let myself go broke to make her win.

I take my seat. Mags sits to my right, and the male mentor from District Three is on my left. This is the third year I've sat next to him, and I still can't get his name right. It's two letters of the alphabet. AC? DC? TV? Who knows? All I can think of when I see him is the nickname he's been given by some of the other Victors: Volts. His black hair sticks out at all angles. Most likely, he's just not that into his physical appearance, or his stylist went a bit overboard with styling product, but I like to think it's because he's stuck his finger in a socket. District Three, after all, supplies the Capitol with electronic gadgets. It's fitting.

Volts is quiet, hardly ever says anything to me unless I initiate the conversation. But not because he's mean. I get that vibe with some of the other mentors, especially the ones from 1 and 2. But District Three's male mentor is like this with everyone. His glasses sit perched on the end of his nose, the black plastic frames slightly magnifying his intelligent brown eyes. Eyes that watch the world, taking it all in and then doing who knows what with that information. Probably something I wouldn't understand.

Beside him is an older woman named Alva. Her black hair is sleek, streaked with silver, unlike the woman who came last year, whose slightly frizzy hair was the color of ink. She didn't seem all there when I met her, so I'm guessing they let her take a break. Three doesn't offer much variety, unlike Districts One and Two, who have so many victors it can almost be a game guessing who will represent them. My own district has just as many victors, but even when I was little I remember Mags at the Games, only missing a year here and there. I don't know how she's arranged it. As for my inclusion these last three years, there's been strong hints from the Capitol that my presence was greatly desired. And who can say no to the Capitol?

The first interview is with a girl from District One named Lace. Taking a cue from her name, her designer's covered her in the material from head to toe. A nice treat for all the perverts in the stadium, though it does her few favors. She's pretty. Usually the tributes from 1 are, but she comes across as having a mind as perforated as the itchy stuff with which she's draped. She'll probably go far because of her Career status, but she doesn't have the brains to win this.

She's replaced by her male counterpart, a hulking beast of a boy with gleaming blond hair named Lux. His body is covered in reflective silver body paint, throwing off light as he bounds across the stage. Reports from the training center say he's practically unbeatable in hand-to-hand combat, and he's also very good with knives. Has a pedigree too. As Caesar points this out, the camera swings to his father, Lucre, winner of the 51st Hunger Games. Except for some gray hairs at his temples, the family resemblance is uncanny. Lucre beams brilliantly at his son and the audience. Understandably so. Lux has been favored to win from the instant he volunteered on Reaping Day.

The District Two Tributes, Alegra and Felix, come next. During both interviews, Caesar points out how their names mean happy. It looks like it's the first they've heard of it, and neither of them even seem capable of smiling. Typical of their district. Cold. Calculating. Dispassionate about everything except destruction. These kinds of tributes are generally successful, but rarely popular. They lack panache and charm, qualities the Capitol holds near and dear to their hearts. The Alegra girl would actually be pretty, but she shaved all her hair off to fit the mold. Bad move on her designer's part.

Volts's tributes are next, but I don't pay much attention. I can't realistically see either of them winning. And while I'm sure people underestimated Volts the year he won, I don't foresee any repetition of mass electrocutions. Things like that can only be used once. Then the element of surprise is lost.

Annie's called up next. She stands, takes a deep breath and throws her shoulders back. I didn't notice it before without all the lights on her, but she is covered in iridescent powder, and her dress reflects light, tricking the eye into believing she's emerging from the water.

As usual Caesar Flickerman is wearing his dark blue suit, which is lit up to look like the night sky. What's changed is that this year his hair, lips, and eyes are a bright sea green.

Before she can take her seat, Caesar grabs Annie's hand and spins her around slowly. "If I didn't know any better, I would think your designer, Agrippina, wanted us color-coordinated. Doesn't she," he pauses, arms outstretched to the masses, "don't _we_ both, look magnificent?" The crowd breaks out into a chorus of oohs, ahs, and laughter as Annie takes her seat and Caesar soaks in their empty adulation.

"So, Annie—"

Caesar stops when she wrinkles her nose slightly. "Is something wrong, dear?"

"Oh, no. It's just…well, being called Annie makes me feel like I'm two years old." There are a few chuckles from the crowd as they size up another potential idol. She and Cliff were a hit at the opening ceremonies, and I'm pretty sure the Capitol will have no difficulty falling head over heels in love with her. But I can't shake my feelings of nervousness.

Caesar swats his own hand and giggles. "How silly of me. Anna is much better suited to the graceful, young lady standing before me."

Annie rolls her eyes, but the action is tempered by the smile she gives him as she tucks her hair behind her ear. "Thank you."

Caesar doesn't seem too convinced Annie believes her hype, because he appeals once more to the crowds. "Doesn't _Anna_—"he pauses, gives Annie a thumbs up—"look like a siren?" The crowd answers with a deafening response.

"There must be something in District Four's water, because you and your fellow partner make a very handsome pair. Should one of you win, you'll definitely give Finnick a run for best looking Victor."

"Oh, no," Annie says, taking her seat, "No one's better looking than Finnick. Just ask him." The audience keels over with laughter as the camera pans over to me. I don't have a microphone, so I spread my arms wide and shrug as if to say I can't help it. Which I can't, but what I can do is use my popularity in her favor.

"Now don't be jealous, Finnick," Caesar chides playfully, wagging his bejeweled index finger at me.

Wink. Smirk. Pander. Try not to laugh as Mags makes discreet gagging noises, which only I can hear over the glee of the crowd. It doesn't last long, because Caesar gets right back to business.

"Alright, Anna, tell us what has been the most exciting thing that's happened since you've arrived in the Capitol?"

I already know the answer to this question, and so does she, but it's not anything she can admit to before the nation. She blinks, searching for a suitable response, as Caesar leans forward like a shark tasting blood on the water.

Annie delicately folds her hands in her lap, but I can see the tension in set of her shoulders. "There have been lots of exciting things that have happened here. I don't think I could pick just one," she says, squirming under Caesar's scrutiny.

"How very diplomatic, but there's no need to censor yourself here," Caesar says conspiratorially, as if they are the only two present and the crowd of thousands has disappeared. "Are you sure there isn't anything you wish to share with me?"

"Not that I can think of. Do you have anything you wish to share with me?" The crowd laps this up. Anyone who teases Caesar is fine in their books. Caesar continues sizing Annie up, who is now nervously fiddling with something at her throat. My necklace.

Caesar shakes his head, chuckling. "You needn't keep secrets. We're all friends here."

Yes, nothing says friendship quite like forcing your friends to fight to the death for your own entertainment. Apparently Annie finds this as twisted as I do, because she laughs loudly.

"I have no secrets," she says, crossing her arms over her stomach.

Annie's wonderful, but she's a horrible liar, and the crowd collectively snickers as Caesar continues his gentle teasing. "Of course you don't. Let's move on. That's a lovely piece of jewelry you have there. Looks Capitol made. Where did you get it from?"

Man alive, he's sharper than Mags, who is now staring at me, eyebrows raised to the middle of her forehead.

Annie drops the necklace as if it's on fire. "It was a birthday gift."

Caesar makes a low whistle. "And a nice gift at that. Will you be wearing that into the arena as your token?"

Her eyes briefly flit over to me, and Mags instantly catches on. There's nothing to do but pretend her eyes aren't boring into my skull. I've made my bed. Now I have to lie in it.

"I think so, yes," she finally answers. This bit of news makes me irrationally happy. The only thing that would make it better was if the woman next to be wasn't radiating disapproval.

"Someone important must have given it to you, I'd wager. Wouldn't you?" Caesar asks, once again consulting the geniuses in the crowd. Oh, yes, they drone.

"Don't be shy, dear. It's perfectly natural that someone would give you a gift. Perhaps a young man back home?" Annie sits still as a statue, gripping the folds of her dress. "Or maybe it's a Capitol fellow? Or one of the other tributes? After all, who wouldn't love you?"

"Plenty of people," she says. Like each and every one of these barbarians who will be betting on whether she will live or die in less than 24 hours.

"Now, tell the truth, which of you sent Miss Cresta this lovely token?"

Bunches of people in the crowd stand up, hooting and hollering. Some hold up blinking marquees which can be programmed with a push of a few buttons to scroll whatever message they want in neon lights. Currently the most popular are "Marry me, Anna" and "I'm Anna's secret admirer."

Annie just shakes her head, clearly embarrassed. "I've never even had a boyfriend before." Really? This is probably messed up, but even at a time like this I still find satisfaction in knowing that I was another of her firsts.

Caesar gasps, and it is immediately echoed by the crowd, in spite of the fact they have no idea what he is going to say next. "Impossible. I'm sure you've broken your fair share of hearts back home."

Annie laughs again. "I'm not even allowed to date." Again, this is news to me, but I'll cross that bridge with Brian and Claire when I come to it. If I come to it.

"That's one of the many nice things about the Hunger Games," Caesar says with a cheeky grin, oblivious to the sudden loss of color from Annie's cheeks. "What happens in the Capitol, stays in the Capitol."

"I'm sorry, Caesar, but my lips are sealed. Maybe when I have free time in the arena, I'll consider letting you in on my secret." In other words, Caesar, don't hold your breath. The old man frowns, as if she's just broken his heart. Or told him that his suit is the ugliest article of clothing that exists in the world. Which is true.

"Well, it looks like Miss Cresta is determined to keep us dying from suspense. But one thing she can't hide is her training score. Eight. Not too shabby. Tied for highest of all the female tributes." Still not as high as the ten given to Lux, and the nine awarded to District Two's Felix.

"Yes, I'm happy with my performance," but she doesn't elaborate since the goings on during the scoring sessions are strictly under wraps.

Caesar shakes his head, making a tsking sound against his teeth. "Always so mysterious, but then aren't all women?"

As the crowd commiserates with Caesar about the puzzles of the opposite sex, the buzzer sounds. The interview is over.

"Well, Anna, I know I'm not alone when I say I hope you win, just so I can find out the identity of your secret admirer. Maybe you'll give us an exclusive reveal at the crowning ceremony?"

Annie can't respond; her time's up. She makes her way over back to her seat, passing Cliff on his way up. He gives her shoulder a tiny squeeze, and she walks back to her seat, a relieved smile on her face.

Is Cliff's interview with Caesar successful? Are any other the other interviews successful? I don't know. I try to pay attention, try to gauge the crowd's reception to the other tributes, but my attention is split with trying to see how Annie is holding up without being too obvious about it, since Mags is still watching me. I can catch the other tribute interviews later on television.

Afterward, we all head back to our quarters. It's dinnertime. Things are relatively upbeat. Much better than the uncomfortable tension of this morning. Once we've stuff ourselves to the gills, we move to the sitting room to catch up on the Capitol's reactions to tonight's event.

A large screen hangs from on of the walls, with two couches and a recliner facing it. Germania and Agrippina each head to a separate couch. I refuse to sit next to the Great Pink One, and Cliff refuses to share a couch with me. Mags is holding converse with our escort, Alexandra, so there are two empty seats left. Three if you count the recliner, but I don't. That leaves Annie with a decision. Either she can sit beside me or Cliff.

I try not to smirk as I feel the cushion beside me shift under her weight. I'm not very successful.

As we wait for Mags and Alexandra to join us, I grab the remote and start flipping through the different channels. There are hundreds and all of them are currently devoted to some aspect of the Games. Apart from the sixty-nine channels showing every Hunger Games that has occurred thus far, there are shows about this year's fashions. The designers of the Games. Strategy and tactics. Weaponry. The science behind muttations. Hunger Games History. Weather trends and predictions. The changes to the Cornucopia over the years. Interactive travel guides at past arenas. Victors. As I flip through, I even see a younger version of myself chatting up Caesar after my victory. I'm about four inches shorter, dressed (marginally) more modestly, missing nearly twenty pounds of muscle mass, with longish, unruly hair that hangs down in front of my eyes. Annie glances over, and from the look she gives me, I brace myself for the inevitable.

"Awww, you were so cute," she says, patting my cheek.

"_Were_?"

Mags grabs the remote from my hand and settles in next to Cliff. She waits for Alexandra to sit in the recliner before using the remote to dim the lights. As Mags switches to the channel covering the recent interviews with Caesar, I kick my feet up on the coffee table in front of me and stretch my arms along the back of the sofa, gently pulling Annie into my side. Cliché? Maybe. Effective? Most definitely.

I catch all the tributes I missed on the replay. They're pretty much fodder. The girl from Seven shows some promise. Maybe the boy from Nine, who's awfully quiet. That doesn't always mean anything, but just last year one of the quiet ones turned into a raging lunatic. Started eating the hearts of his kills and needed to be stunned just so the hovercrafts could retrieve the bodies. Until the Capitol killed him with an avalanche. At least if you believe the rumors, which I do.

Annie's biggest competition, without doubt, comes from the other Career districts. This I already knew. I do learn, however, that Annie doesn't like watching herself on television. I stop trying to cajole her into looking at screen when she buries her face in my neck. She must like it there, because she hardly moves for the rest of the evening.

When the recaps are finished, Panem's anthem plays and then the screen goes black. On all channels. Not that it's time to go to bed. There are still parties and parades to be had outdoors straight on till tomorrow morning.

Germania is the first to stand. "There's a small gathering at one of the Gamesmaker's houses," Germania says, looking about at the adults. "Anyone care to join?"

Agrippina and Alexandra stand, ready to join their fellow Capitol citizen for what is likely one of the more exclusive bashes taking place tonight. "Finnick? Mags?" Germania prompts.

To my relief, Mags answers, "Can't make it." My only plans for the evening revolve around Annie. Pointing at the escort, Mags says, "Neither can you." Alexandra looks ready to protest, but she refrains. I've seen Mags and her go at it earlier in the week. She doesn't stand a chance, and she knows it. "And you two," she says to the designers, "make sure you're back here by morning to prep Cliff and Annie."

The three of them leave the room without responding. Probably hoping to escape any more of Mags's orders.

I slowly stand to my feet, grimacing slightly at my creaking knees. Holding out my hand to Annie, I help her up. Over at the other couch, I see Cliff do the same for Mags. But he doesn't stop there. He hugs her, and though I can't make out the words, I hear Mags whisper something in his ear. He holds her for another second, than breaks away and walks toward me.

Thrusting his hand towards me, he says formally, "Thank you for all your help, Finnick." I try to meet his eyes, but feel a bit ashamed. This attempt at peace should have come a whole lot sooner. And it should have been initiated by me. Better late than never, I suppose. I shake his hand. Answer back, "Sure. No problem, Cliff. See you tomorrow." Then, after saying goodnight to Annie, Cliff makes his way to his room.

Annie's eyes trail after him, and I notice how pale she looks. Must be nerves. I lean down and whisper in her ear, "I'll come by in a few minutes." She looks back up at me, confused, but doesn't say anything. Then she follows after Cliff, disappearing down the hallway.

Should I even pretend that I'm not going to follow her? Yeah, I probably should. Mags is already mad enough at me as it is. Besides, I need to run to my room and grab my toothbrush.

"Come on, Finnick." Mags walks over and pats me on back. "Time to go to the Games Headquarters."

What? "But I thought—" The hairs on my arms stand on end, and my skin starts to feel clammy. Just like when I wake up from a nightmare. Only this time I wasn't sleeping.

"Didn't you see the schedule?" she sighs, exasperated. "This is your third year. You should know by now that—"

I take a step forward, banging my shin against the coffee table. No, no, no. How could I forget that the night before the Games the mentors don't stay in the training center. My last night with Annie was yesterday, not today.

"Those sponsors aren't going to sign themselves up," Mags says softly. I think. I can't hear much over the rushing of blood through my ears. My heart starts to hurt, and I feel lightheaded. This isn't right. I need to be with her. This is all wrong.

"I need to say good-bye," I say, starting towards the hallway, unable to breathe.

Mags says something after me, but I don't hear it. I stumble through the hallway to Annie. My feet are heavy, and it feels like I'm trudging against the surf. I push harder, almost running to her door, afraid that I won't be able to make it in time. I don't knock. The door slams against the wall, and I find her lying on her bed. Still in her dress, she is curled into a small ball, her glittering back towards me. Shutting the door, I stride over to her side of the bed and kneel before her.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I thought I'd be able to stay here tonight."

She sits up. Not waiting for an invitation, I pull her out of the bed, hauling her into my arms. She inhales deeply, then shudders against me. I rock her in my arms. Wait till she's able to speak.

"Finnick, I'm so scared," she finally says, her voice small and trembling.

"Shhh. Shhh," I whisper into her hair. "It's going to be alright. I promise."

She shakes her head and tries to push me away, but I can't let go. "How can you say that?" she says despairingly, tears glistening on her lashes.

How can I say that? I don't know, but my mind won't let me accept the alternative: that I have no power in this situation. For my own sanity, I play along. "Because, I won't let anything bad happen to you."

I feel the panic begin to overwhelm me, but I have to keep it together. If Annie sees me lose it, it won't help her in the slightest. So I retreat further into my new reality, where we both have some kind of control over what will happen to us. Where there is no rebellion and no games, and we can be together.

"And when you win, we'll go back to Four and I'll ask for your parents' permission to date you." I hold her hands, squeezing them gently. "Does that sound good to you?"

"I'd like that," she says, offering me a watery smile. "A lot."

Time is short, and even though I tell myself Mags can wait, or better yet, go on without me, I know that won't happen. Taking her face in my hands, I kiss her. Blocking out everything but Annie, I hold her to me, determined that for at least these minutes, nothing will come between us.

Annie moves up on her toes, her body sliding against mine as her fingers find purchase in my hair. She fits snugly against me, as if I've held her like this millions of times instead of just this once. We move backwards, stumbling ungracefully until the back of my knees hit her bed. Unbalanced, I nearly fall, but catch at her clothes. The sequins of her dress scratch my hands as they move over her.

The kisses are desperate, urgent, even painful. There'll be marks. In contrast, when she pushes me away, her touch is gentle, like the breeze. Air. She needs air.

Pressing my mouth to the top of her head, I breathe in, trying to steady myself. The scent of oranges is all around me, the first attack on my senses. Others quickly follow. Annie's breathing, harsh and humid against my chest. Annie's fingertips, enmeshed in the silver netting of my shirt, tingling wherever they touch me. Her skin, flushed and yet covered with chills.

Bunching fistfuls of shiny blue material by her hips and thighs, I rasp out some garbled words. Compliments most likely, but choked and made insensible by my need for her. I begin to shake as I feel her calf rub against then wrap itself around my leg.

Last night I was able to put a stop to this, but now…there's so little time left. And I want to memorize everything about her. My mouth drops to her shoulder, tasting the skin there. Oranges. I groan, running my fingers along the strap of her dress. In the way.

The zipper of her dress is cold, a small sliver of respite from the intolerable heat coursing over my body. The very open weave of my shirt does nothing, just clings uncomfortably. Tailored to fit me perfectly, the clothes now feel two sizes too small, and the soft material seems to have transformed into coarse rope, which chafes against my skin. I want nothing more than to take it off. Wait, that's not completely true. There's something else I want more. Something else that needs to be removed.

As I fiddle with the icy metal of Annie's zipper, I start to believe that pulling the clasp down will unleash a torrent that will keep me from being burned alive. Irrational, I know, but as I keep fumbling with the zip, the idea builds credence. Seconds later I'm utterly convinced that the only way to escape this fire is to drown myself in her.

As I ease the fastener down, I feel her chest hitch against mine and she goes completely still. I drop my fingers to her waist, thumbs stroking her stomach through the dress. I meet her gaze, silently pleading to let me continue.

Her fingers dig into my skin, and she closes her eyes, breathing heavily, nearly swaying into me. "Finnick," she moans, my name nearly unrecognizable on her lips.

That's a yes. My fingers start back toward the zipper. But then Annie throws herself into my arms, hugging me like I'm a child's toy. "I can't," she gasps out. When she says it again, she sounds like she's on the verge of tears.

I hadn't considered this alternative earlier, but this is another way to put out a fire. Her rejection is just as effective as a belly flopping from a bluff into our wintry sea. Complete with painful stabs of ice water and impact.

"Please don't be mad at me," she begs, forcing me from my stupor. I'm not mad. I'm furious. Though not at her. Just myself. And Annie needs to know that. Burying my embarrassment, I assure her, "It's my fault. Not yours. I shouldn't have asked for this so soon. I don't know what I was thinking." Idiot! I'd bash my head against a wall, but she still won't let go of me and I feel too awkward to do anything but stand there stupidly.

"Thank you, Finnick," she says, gratefulness evident in every word. I can see her try to figure out what to say next. I guess she can't find the words, because she grabs my face in her hands. For a second she looks unsure, but then her lips find mine. Light, sweet. She pulls back, looking me straight in the eye as her fingers move from my face, down my shoulders and chest. Further down to my stomach, stopping just inches above my belt. "Maybe…When I win…"

I nod my head in understanding. "When you win," I vow.

She's the one to let go. Stepping back, she swipes at her eyes, draws in a deep breath. "Before you leave, could you do something for me?" she asks, her hands wringing the sides of her dress.

"Anything."

Going over to her dresser, she pulls out a handful of letters, places them firmly in my hands. "If I don't…Make sure these make it to the proper people."

This last request destroys the temporary bubble in which I'd found shelter. The possibility of her death hits me again full force, robbing me of air. I can't speak. Even if I could, I'd cry and that's the last thing Annie needs now. So I just nod my head, tucking the letters into my suit's inner pocket.

When I look up, she's standing in front of me. And because I'm not sure if I'll ever have this opportunity again, I kiss her.

Too soon, we're interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Finnick," Mags calls through the wood. I have to fight the way my fingers want to wrap around Annie's waist and never let go.

"I'll see you soon," I say, the words sticking like sand in my throat.

She just nods, and I rip myself away from her, fleeing the room before she can see me cry.

I crash out into the hallway, ready to fight Mags about my lateness, but she says nothing. Just fixes the collar of my clothes and brushes my face with her thumb. When she pulls it back, I see lipstick there. She sticks a few tissues in my hands and looks away as I wipe my eyes.

After a few seconds, she says, "Come on, son. Let's go."

Somehow we make it to the elevators. When the elevator doors close behind us, I lean against the wall, ready to sink to the ground. Mag's hand at my elbow bears me up.

"I told Agripinna to send ahead another outfit," Mags says, her tone still hushed. I look down at my rumpled suit. The silver weave is no longer symmetrical. It gapes in places where Annie worked her way in. The suit will never be the same again. Not that it would matter. The Capitol's already seen it. Agrippina would never let them catch me wearing repeat ensembles.

"You can change once we get down there," she says as the elevators open. The instant we're outside the training center's doors, we're bombarded by a blitzkrieg of lights and noises. It's disorienting, and the world starts to spin as I feel their hands on me, trying to take a piece of me. I should run away. Take Annie and hide. But where? The muscles in my legs tense, but one look from Mags stops me. She steers me through the throng, her small hand like a rudder at my back. Occasionally patting me or rubbing the spot between my shoulder blades.

A long, black vehicle is waiting for us. An Avox opens the door for us, and we duck inside and wait as we're chauffeured to the Games Headquarters.

There is a sound of glass clinking, and Mags shoves something cold into my hands. "Drink this."

Without thought, I accept the glass and toss the liquid back, choking as it burns its way down my throat. "What is that? It tastes horrible," I say, when I've finally stopped coughing.

Mags grins. "Well, it's certainly not milk."

I wipe my mouth with my sleeve and stare out the tinted windows. While I can't hear it clearly, music is blasting so loud, the bass causes the interior of the limosuine to pulse with the beat. Outside are the Capitol citizens, dressed in all their finery, dancing, drinking, laughing as they celebrate the biggest party of the year. The car is slow going due to all the parades and carousers it must navigate through. The Games Center, which is only a few blocks away, will take a half hour to reach.

About half-way there, Mags speaks to me again. "If you want to help the tributes, you're going to need to pull it together," she says.

I nod, not quite sure what it is I'm agreeing with.

"Finnick, are you listening?"

I nod my head, rubbing my eyes. "Yes. Yes, I'm listening."

"Good. She did well. They both did, and there should be plenty of people willing to donate to our tributes. But you need to keep selling them."

"Her," I correct.

"No, them. Showing favoritism is not going to help. At least not yet. But when you show up, I need Finnick Odair to be there. Do you understand what I'm saying? Can you do that?"

I don't have a choice. "Yes."

Mags seems to believe me, because I no longer fear that she will break the glass she's holding. "Alright. According to the bookmakers, Anna and Cliff are odds-on favorites for the top eight, but Lux, Alegra, and Felix performed better in the interviews, and the boys both scored higher than her. Since they've already agreed to be allies, they might be able to benefit from this initially. But as things start to thin out, it's important that you've distinguished those two from the rest. And hopefully Anna and Cliff will help you out too."

That would be nice, but I don't see much killing in Annie's future. It just doesn't sit right with what I know about her. So that means I'll have to rely on Cliff to do the dirty work. He likes her, so he should pose little harm to her. But in other ways, he may be the most dangerous threat of all for her in that arena. She might just die protecting him. I should have warned her, told her to cut him loose the instant he began to slow her down. I add that to my growing list of regrets.

Mags gives me a firm pat on the shoulder, indicating that we've arrived. The second I step out of the limo, a Capitol reporter accosts me. I'd like to shove her aside, but what would be the point?

She fingers the collar and the torn bits of material of my shirt, smiling knowingly at me. "Looks like you started the celebrations a little early."

"When in the Capitol…" I trail off suggestively.

"So, who's the lucky girl?"

It's like a repeat of Annie's interview with Caesar, but Mags pushes me past the reporter with a, "Not you. Now if you'll excuse us."

I look over my shoulder apologetically, though the only thing I'm sorry for was not being able to say that myself. Oh to be old and popular for being a crotchety spinster. At least Mags always enjoys herself in the Capitol. She actually gets to speak her mind. Be herself.

I don't know how I get through that night. Maybe because I recognize this is the only way I can save her. So I pull myself together. One breath at a time. One thought at a time. Brick by brick, I build my walls, sectioning off the emotions I can't deal with. The emotions that won't help me here. That won't help her. By the time I've changed into my new outfit, I've done what Mags said was necessary. I've become Finnick Odair. The golden boy from Four who everybody loves. Who always gets what he wants.

From here to the start of the Games, it's a near constant stream of meetings with potential investors. Some I recognize from previous years. Many are people who sponsored me during my own Games, which they love to remind me of. Like they own me or are responsible for my success. By the time our break rolls around, at least twenty people have asked me about my trident. I pretend they're talking about the weapon hanging over the fireplace back home, but who really knows with these people. All I do know is that I hate them. Before I didn't care one way or the other, but now I just hate them. What gives them the right to converse with me like we're buddies? Or even closer? I channel this anger, use it to bilk them out of as much money as possible. When all the pledge monies are tallied, I've seen to it that Annie and Cliff are in third and fifth place.

At six in the morning, the mentors are given a brief two hour break to nap, shower, or do whatever before one last round of interviews at nine. They've erected temporary lodgings for the mentors in the Games Center to use during the next couple weeks, though we're free to stay back at the Training Center. I would go, but by now Annie is gone, flying somewhere over Panem to her arena.

During the competition, the mentors usually work in shifts after the first day, only leaving if their tributes are killed off, though some stay around to socialize with the other victors. To keep track of what goes on in the games, each mentor is given a pager that tracks the health levels and locations of their tributes in relation to the other contestants. If there is action or rumors of action, the missing mentor is alerted. They can choose to return or let the mentor on duty handle it. Both Mags and I are hands on, so we make the decisions together, but it varies from district to district. Twelve's mentor is in the most unique situation. Since their only other victor died a long time ago, he's by himself. Not that he taxes himself to make up for the missing help. He's usually drunk or cracking jokes with one of the guys from Eleven, while his escort half-heartedly tries to get him to take his job seriously.

I look around, locate the mentor in question. Haymitch Abernathy is already surrounded by empty wineglasses. Typical. What's unusual is the woman hanging about him. Looks like he has a new escort this year. She is younger than the last one, and there's an obstinate set to her jaw and sneer of disgust with her coworker that promises some interesting tension. We'll see if she's more successful at getting him to do his job than the last one. I'm not getting my hopes up.

Shutting the door of my suite behind me, I find my bed and collapse in it. I've been up for over 24 hours, but I know sleep just won't come. So I lay in the darkness and stare at the ceiling. Eventually, there's a knock at the door, and I recognize our new escort poke her head through, light spilling in from behind her.

It's too early in the morning for her to be wearing a wig that bright. "It's almost time," she trills with an equally obnoxious giggle. Through quick thinking and Mags, I've managed to avoid being alone with her for most of the week. No such luck now. She'll be holed up with us in the Games Center for the duration of the competition.

"Thanks, Alexandra."

"Actually, it's Alexandria." She totters in on insanely high heels, flicking on the lights. I shield my eyes against the garish lime green of her outfit as she places some things at the end of my bed.

"Sorry."

"That's alright. I've brought you breakfast. And a change of clothes."

She stands there expectantly. "I'll see you later," I say, looking at the door. She takes the hint and leaves me to get ready. When I'm dressed and fed, I join Mags, who is entertaining the Capitol citizens by casually insulting one the many Hunger Games correspondents.

The questioning goes on for half an hour, and it will be repeated again at the same time tomorrow. And the day after that and so on until one of the tributes is finally crowned. The comments from these interviews will be played, spliced, and argued over ad nauseum every couple of hours once the initial bloodbath at the Cornucopia runs its course, culminating in an hour long recap of the day's events given by an expert team of analysts from the Capitol's leading sports and recreation channel.

The lights eventually dim, signaling it's time for the reporters to be ushered out of the nucleus of the Games Headquarters. They're not going far though. They'll be kept on hand in the foyer, should interviews with the mentors be needed.

The usual pre-Games show comes on the screen, and I'm subjected to the antics of four grown men, making predictions, reminiscing, and comparing stats from the last sixty-nine years of Hunger Games. They even discuss the new camera techniques available to them for the first time this year.

Fifteen minutes to go. They go over the tributes one last time, dissecting their strengths and weakness. A rotating image of Annie in training gear appears briefly on the screen, standing feet apart and hands out to her side. 5'9", 137 pounds. Training score of 8. BMI. Birthday. Measurements. Everything you could possibly want to know. After they've gone through the last of the tributes, a woman reporter just outside the mystery arena speaks. Will this be the bloodiest opening day ever? Will District 12 be able to snap their first day tribute blues? Find out this and much more after the commercial break.

Mags and I settle on one of the couches in our area, leaving Alexandria to sit by herself on a recliner. There's a small screen that rises from the cushion between us, our link to the outside world and donations from sponsors. I settle in, taking a bottled water from one of the staff that walks by offering refreshments. I don't even attempt to eat food. There's no way I'll be able to keep it down.

Immediately before us are two screens in a console, one for Annie, one for Cliff. Beyond that is a large wall, broken up into five screens. For the bloodbath at the Cornucopia, the five screens merge into one big display to project all the action. Like going to the movies. They even serve popcorn here in the Games Headquarters. Eventually the screens will split up again, so we can see all the confrontations simultaneously. And if we miss anything, there'll be replays and plenty of commentary.

The closer we get to kick-off, the room grows progressively tense and quiet. Even Alexandria has managed to shut her mouth. It's this way every year. Perhaps all the mentors are reliving their own games. It's what I've done in the past. Only this year, I'm thinking about Annie and everything that can go wrong.

We get our first glimpse of the arena as the tributes rise from the ground on their individual platforms. Like all the other contestants, Annie's dressed in light colored clothing from head to foot. They've all been given lightweight jackets, fleece vests, and sturdy boots. So hot days, cold nights, and probably high gusts of wind. Unless the Gamesmakers decide to mess with the weather.

She stands between two boys, one from District 8, the other from District 11. Both look no older than thirteen, and neither are taller than her. Based on their scores and general scrawniness, I don't foresee any trouble. But on the next plate over is a girl from 7 that I'm not too sure about. If she tries to go towards the Cornucopia, she'll most likely be taken out by Lace, who is next to her. Annie and Lace are allies; I tell myself not to worry. It doesn't work. Once a tribute, always a tribute. I see the possible moves in my head. One action leading to an infinite number of outcomes, all ending with Annie taken away from me.

No. That's not going to happen. I shake my head. Pull myself together. Focus only on that minute. That second.

Annie's long hair is pulled back in a braid, which she's tucked inside her shirt, no doubt to keep anyone from pulling on it. Her green eyes are opened wide, hand to her forehead to block out the sun. She scans for Cliff, and once she's found him, surveys the terrain.

Desert to one side, forest-like vegetation to another, tableaus of red rock in yet another direction. Ravines and what look like Gamesmaker-made mazes thread through the desert floor. Walls of red and orange stone that rise hundreds of feet from the ground, hiding a network of caves and dwellings from the people who lived on this land hundreds, maybe even thousands of years ago. The stone is broken up by a dam, holding back the flow of a river. There are little pockets of water hidden throughout the miles of the arena, but this dam ensures the Gamesmakers' control over the largest supply of water available to the tributes.

How much of this Annie takes in during that one minute allowed to the tributes, I don't know. She doesn't have the advantage of thousands of angles from over hundreds of strategically placed cameras. The countdown on the bottom of the right-hand corner of the screen says there are only ten seconds left.

I grip the couch, hiding my fingers under my legs. Mags says nothing, but I feel her hand rest on my knee, which is starting to shake.

There is nothing but zeros left on the bottom of the screen and the booming voice of Claudius Templesmith rings out over the speakers: "Ladies and gentlemen, let the 70th Hunger Games begin."

* * *

**To Be Continued

* * *

A/N: Special thanks to Medea Smyke who has encouraged me to keep writing by reading my scraps in their various stages. She has the patience of a saint.**


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